riddled with beauty, your words confound my senses.
your presence, written in whispers, shows me the gentle creases around your smile, your cheeks weathered, never aging.
threaded with grace, your power pulls me gently, kindly.
yours is a strength unmatched, yet often unseen.
longing for purity, i long for unity.
oh, how beautiful.
a thousand armies could not take my heart from the fortress of your love.
strong Love, how do you love?
mighty Man, how do you live?
show my hands how to work, my tongue how to speak, my feet how to dance.
dancing was never easy for me, but you showed me a new step, one that i can follow.
my heart was a refugee, but you opened your borders to let me in.
and there in the wild country of your tender mercy i find safety, i find freedom, i find abundance.
i find providence.
i find you, again and again, each time better than the last.
how is it that grace should touch my hands with power?
i scream and scream but still i lack.
the price of a prostitute is not a day’s wages, but a soul.
it was never about money.
it was never about time.
these things are nothing in his hands, they sift through his fingers like waters through a breaking dam.
they mean nothing.
never give up searching.
never give up fighting.
never give up hoping.
your please and thank-yous will not save you, for they did not save me. they merely blinded me from, numbed me from the darker parts of my mind that screamed out like children in the night for their mother.
mother where are you?
mother, i need you by my side.
i need you to sing to me.
i need your embrace.
ah but these notes rend my heart useless. this song creates tsunamis in the sea of my memory, waves crash afresh on the shores of distant hope.
hope in something i have never found.
did i find it in you?
but these thoughts are nothing like the stars. i cannot read them.
no constellation bears witness to my eyes.
tell me, you who made the wind,
what do you see in me, that you should desire?
tell me, you who formed the sea,
what do you want with me?
tell me, you who wrought my life,
why didn’t you leave me in dust?
why did you give me lungs to breath?
why did you give me a voice to speak?
why did you give me hands to make?
why did you give me feet to run?
and there the answer lies, barely hidden, giggling like a child playing hide-and-seek.
“I gave you lungs to breath, a voice to speak, hands to make, and feet to run.”
This I can do.