Little ol' me?
Ain't whole me?
Oh, I'm from that school of shame -
Where I am the victim and I am to blame
When I am guilty, it feels just the same
"Something about me attracts and delivers pain."
Ashamed.
Because living in my head hurts
And my opened closet reveals bodies on bodies in dirt
Shapen in iniquity and conceived in sin sits right
But fine print is appended to John 3:16
For God so loved the world*
*But that doesn't include me
I'm the daughter that tears, oil, and faith can't save
My state of humanity is uniquely grave
Me.
Big ol' me.
Not quite holy.
Removing Sheol clothes
Healing and learning from shame
And still slipping up
Still slightly profane
Still questioning the therapist who said
"Change what you can change."
Much more aware
Much more free
Better able to challenge rumination's stories
Mental eraser in my figurative hands,
Going to work on the aforementioned print
Finally beginning to understand
The writing belongs to me,
not God.
Me.
Soft ol' me.
Sister-Woman of Celie.
Declaring boldly to everything listening:
But I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
Standing in the story.
story
noun (2)
\ ˈstȯr-ē \
Definition (Entry 3 of 3)
1a: the space in a building between a floor and the roof
