They Tell Me

I debated about whether I ought to post this or not, but I chose to because I feel it fits with several others I’ve written, and as I restructure my blog that may make more sense. That being said, over the summer I read several articles about domestic abuse and sexual harassment, and I was inspired to write this.

 

They tell me

it’s normal

when little boys

rip the wings off

of butterflies.

They tell me

it’s normal.

 

They tell me

I should have known

when his hands wandered,

his eyes wandered too.

They tell me

I should have known.

 

They don’t know

he ripped my wings

over quiet years

of concealed pain.

They don’t know,

They don’t care.

 

They told me

we had love-

three long years

together.

They told me

we had love.

 

So I stayed

for that love.

But love isn’t

breaking her down.

But I stayed

for my love.

 

Three years past,

I am healed,

mostly.

I will thrive.

Three years past

I am healed.

~August 19, 2016~

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The Lone Dancer

She has ribbons of scarlet

laced loosely up her thin arms.

She has diamonds on her face,

glistening on both her cheeks.

Broken now, and full of hurt.

She dances all by herself,

in the middle of the crowd.

Nobody turns to see her,

though they pull her to and fro.

She needs someone to catch her,

collect all of her diamonds,

mend her broken crystal heart,

free her of the red ribbons.

~9/23/2015~

A History Major’s Rant

This semester, as I engage with the texts of the past, I’ve been struggling on an emotional level with the material I’ve been reading for courses.

It is so hard to be so steeped in humanity’s failures, to see the death and dying, to see the fighting and the drinking and the drugs effect so many people’s lives. It’s hard to read about the destruction of the earth and other people so someone could make a quick buck. It’s hard to read about people dying brutal, bloody deaths, inflicted by other people. It’s hard to read about the injustices committed because of race, or gender, or people group. It’s hard to see the broken Imago Dei in the past, without looking away.

People come to my major because they think that History is an easy “A.” They think it’s about memorizing facts, names, dates. That’s not what it’s about, and I’m reminded of that every semester. It’s easy to lose sight of the people behind those names and dates, the ones who made this world we’re in now what it is.

Some days, I just want to find peace, love, joy. I long for a restoration from this broken reality. That’s the hope of Christ, and I can’t imagine doing my job without it. I don’t think I could do my job without it.

All of this is to say, it’s easy to say that hurtful thing. I know, I’ve done it repeatedly. But hurt people hurt people. In five words, that’s my summary of history. Guys, I’ve come to treasure those moments where people show kindness, no matter how small. It’s not the stuff that’s often remembered in history texts, and it seems like it’s far outweighed at the time. But it’s the stuff that makes us human. It’s the stuff that keeps us going. We can’t keep on like this. If we profess to be image bearers, then aren’t we called to reflect the goodness that God is? Even a little light can be bright in the darkness.

Ragged Edges

The ragged edges of my heart

have begun to heal over.

There was a time they were smoother,

Like a polished glass heart.

But then my heart was broken,

completely smashed,

utterly destroyed.

I cut myself picking it up,

Trying to put it back together.

But superglue and scotch tape

won’t bring it back together.

Holding my heart now,

I see the rough spots.

But time has worn away the sharpness,

and it no longer cuts me.

I still see the ragged edges,

but they are healing over.

~