front door
It’s all so surreal
the pressures of my own misunderstandings
pushing up against the reality of one name.
The deceitful voices in my head taunt me,
“Turn the door knob left,
No right,
No far left again.
I stand there confused,
leaning on my fear like it’s a spiked metal crutch,
while keeping my eyes shut,
trying to pretend that I’m in control.
I hear a soft knock at the door,
that’s followed by a loving plea,
but I won’t respond,
I can’t respond.
I’m tangled up in this thin rope of anger,
that shreds through the word of truth?
I want to go forward
I want to go forward
I’ve swallowed too much pride
now I’m choking,
as the closing of my throat
freezes up my ability to breath in fresh air.
The continuous knocking on my door
keeps ringing in my ear!
Mind stay shut!
This will block the ability
to open my heart and let him in.
His bright light is shining through the narrow key hole.
Beams of righteousness keep slapping me in the face,
tearing layers of old flesh,
making it harder for me to resist Him.
It’s becoming a challenge for me to turn away
and keep my heart shut,
my soul is like a bare wasteland and it cries out,
“I’m thirsty!
“Free me!
“Touch me!
“Love me!
“Reconstruct the very essence of my wounded spirit!”
Then the door flies open like a fierce storm
and we become one.
Monique is a native Californian raised in Pasadena. She loves graphic design, as well as oil painting. One of her short-term goals is to go to Paris for some authentic crêpes!
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