Sometimes I hide,
returning to the fake
safety of once discarded
grave clothes
and wrap them
tightly around my wounds and scars
as bandages that never heal,
but only hinder growth...
+
Hidden there I call myself
by once forgotten names of
brokenness, despair,
doubt and fear,
that draw me to the pit
of my own self loathing...
+
but to my surprise,
I find you there again,
and you hold me gently in the darkness
'til I am ready
to be freed
to walk with you again...
+
One day
I will
out grow
those grave clothes...
+
Image: New Life (mine)
