On this path of living my truth, I bump into all the times I’ve been untrue: The job endured because I felt I should, The countless times I’ve said yes to please another, When every cell in my body was screaming no.
The relationship severed and lost, Because I lacked the courage to speak up, Or spoke too freely, without discernment, Of import, of kindness, of truth. Each misstep, a bruise, a welt, a cut I carry still. The heavy sandbags of grief, shame and despair, The concepts I hold, built on values of family, society, Of how life should be, form solid walls, A prison cell around my true self. They bar my freedom, block my light. I touch these tender purple lesions, Soft abrasions, rubbed raw through time, Deep gashes still bleeding hurt, Untended wounds, too painful to clean, And hold each one up to His loving gaze. I thank each blunder for the blessing it bears, The insight, the wisdom, the truth of what I am not. The barricades begin to dissolve, The bleeding stems, aches recede, and wounds start to heal, Each scar a testament to this sacred road travelled.
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