eyes portrait person girl 18495 1
eyes portrait person girl 18495 1

The Waiting: What Jesus meant to a pain-filled little girl

The Waiting

a little girl hits a fence each time she wants to cross over to a new chapter on the page of her life. each attempt gets her feet wobbling & drifting like a series of wafted papers, trying to find a beam for support. her drive to live fades away like the smooth sand that graces our shore & her flailing faith is not helping at all.  the hurt & shame throbbing in her chest, planted by the seventeen-year-old monster she had learned to call uncle, even before her lips split their bond like a crushed nut to mutter “papa”; destroyed the seed of faith that kissed her lips when she prayed. sitting on her abattoir cursed bed, where knives, skin, & blood clinked when uncle Dave ripped open her heart & fed it to the owls that lurked around the dark corners of her favorite bedtime storybook, ‘the wizard of Oz’. she rips her body off the place of desecration & embraces the lofts of the darkness under the bed.  the ocean does not only drown you, it soothes you while you slowly die. she watches enviously how the light flicker & dies like a candle stuffed of its will to live. the brightest star is invisible before the sun. but God still smiles; her mind opens its spine to the smiling portrait of Jesus, blessing little children aunt Lily showed her at Sunday school. she opens her fingers to seize the smile lurking at the corners of his lips  “maybe this can color my drooping life,” she says to her self. then she peers into his soulful eyes, her eyes become a fountain of cascading water, & her lips part painfully to whisper;  “where were you? b- but you said you will never leave me”. holding-on is a luxury. how do you walk barefoot on broken glass? her eyes blur from the smiling picture & zoom into the insecticide she had learned to love more than her life literally, she holds it close to her heart & shuts her mind away from the pictures of her wailing mama digging into her body screaming;   “wake up, please don’t do this to me baby”  & the unmistaken blue in papa’s face, as she lay breathlessly on the cold floor.  but God still smiles. it’s getting harder to detach her self from the entangling painting of Jesus, blessing the little children.  when hope beams, it takes on the face of God, & when you look, there’s no need to look away. a little girl hits a fence each time she wants to cross over to a new chapter on the page of her life. she vanishes in thin air slowly like a puff from the lips of a smoker, till God finds her.
Hello readers, what lessons can you take from this powerful poem? Hop into the comment section; the author would love to hear from you
Suggested Read:  Bent not Destroyed

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