Track me here,
To the edge of all we’ve known before.
Hunt me down, love
Meet me here,
If you’ve the courage for a fight.
Hunt me down, love
Find me here,
Broken open and ready to soar.
Hunt me down, love
Or set me free.
cswhitlow
I am not my mother.
Or the mother before her.
I am not like another.
I am not the lies I have believed in secret.
Or the ones still screaming my name in broad daylight.
I am not defeated.
I am not lost.
I am the pieces I have gathered,
Flame tested,
made ever stronger amongst the ash.
I am the lessons I have watched
Unfold before me,
The ones that still leave
The taste of blood in my mouth.
I am battle tested,
A collection of scars,
Redeemed and made beautiful,
Over and over and over again.
I am a universe,
A love story,
Stitched together by grace.
I am relentless.
I am hope.
cswhitlow
Scattered across such unforgiving ground
Price paid for a reckless rebellion
Elbow deep in abandoned hope
She sifts anxious
Through bloody shards and dust
Searching, digging, scavenging
For just one piece
The one,
That will reflect the Light back in.
The one,
That always reminds her
why she should
Stand and fight again.
cswhitlow
Listen…
You are not broken.
You are scarred and still standing,
Battle worn, weary,
But still kind,
still needed.
You are not defeated.
Stop feeding that darkness
with old lies
and unrelenting doubt.
My love,
Look….
Look through my eyes,
Into this heart,
Offered,
Open in these bloodied hands,
Listen,
Look…
And I’ll show you,
the miracle you’ve become.
cswhitlow
I will brush the blood and gravel from these weary knees.
I will stand and sift through the glorious ash of the girl too afraid to live.
I will gather up the good pieces left refined
And leave the rest to become ink and scars.
I will put to good use this needle and thread.
I will allow to mend what has been left torn open.
I will open wide, wiser eyes and seek.
I will sing a new song.
I will emerge less of her ….
and so very much more.
I will.
I am.
cswhitlow
What if’s and Why did I’s
raining down like volcano ash;
suffocating,
gray,
smothering the light
that sets free.
What if I simply slipped back into winter, frozen and numb?
Why did I let myself begin to burn?
What if I ran again …
from him, from her, from the dreams?
Why did I let myself be seen?
What if I went back into hiding?
Why did I step from the shadows at all?
What if I gave back into fear?
Why did I ever believe their lies?
cswhitlow