Why do the feelings that are meant to be captivating and beautiful,
Cripple my confidence until,
Beneath the surface of my skin is a,
Relentless need to breath?
A breath of fresh air would do me sound,
The crickets in my stomach would skyrocket,
until the conflicting noise of my anxiety,
collided into the utmost symphonic display of spontaneity and purity.
The paralyzing static in my mind would halt,
And all of life’s goodness would join their hands together,
The debilitating pressure holding my hands,
Behind my back,
My heals wedged against the edge of the room,
My shoulders sinking deep,
And my liveliness broken like an egg tossed to the concrete,
With all parts running to the edge but never able to break away from center,
That debilitating pressure would diminish.
And at that point, I pray,
I’m still standing.
At that point, I pray,
The love, the joy, the triumphant feelings that are meant to be captivating and beautiful,
I pray that they can still come in,
That my brokenness wouldn’t build up the brick, mile-high walls it has before,
And instead, would be an open door.