When I Didn’t Make Much of You…

walkingout

When I didn’t make much of you;
When I could no longer hide the bruises;
When I refused to pretend the cracks in my skin were shadows,
Instead of pointing to your cross,
You threw stones.
You made these bones
A home for guilt,
And a place of shame.

It was then,
I gave up looking for your god to save me.
No longer climbed sheer walls,
Dodged bombs,
Or navigated your cruelty.
Decided
I didn’t need your star charts
To find my way.

Stumbling through the dark
I’ve learned,
Everything we bring to the table is dirty.
Polish and rags
Will never make everything clean.
It’s why bloodstains are holy.
Holy,
Like the breaking of bread
For those
Who just need to be something to eat.
Holy,
Like loving the unlovely,
Who
Inside scarred hearts
Are fucking beautiful.

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About Z.

Poetic pipe and cigar enthusiast rifling through the haunted memories of a not so distant past while openly wrestling with faith and God. A rambling writer with the misguided notion that he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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7 Responses to When I Didn’t Make Much of You…

  1. StarS says:

    I wish I could write beautiful, heartfelt poetry like you

    Liked by 1 person

  2. thinkingoutcloud says:

    Amazing

    Liked by 1 person

  3. smirkpretty says:

    Raw. This gives me chills.

    Like

  4. Julia Byers says:

    Z., as always, so beautiful and chilling. I’m always hesitant to say how beautiful they are, because I know they come from a painful place. So thank you for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

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