I wish there was something that my useless words could do
to heal that gaping chasm where your heart used to lie.
“I must be strong,
must go on,
must get better.”
I wish I could help you see that there are no musts here
and instead there is a lion who understands your pain.
“I must never fall,
must rescue myself,
must rescue the world.”
But don’t you see you’ve got him wrong?
he doesn’t want your musts
or your attempts
or your perfection.
the palms that hold redemption are battered,
and your musts are buried inside them.
the side that pours forth hope is a gaping wound,
and your attempts are washed away in it.
the stripes that are like a king’s garment; they are nothing more than scars,
and they outshine every false perfection of your fearful heart.