Can I trust you with my mess?
The bruised brokenness of smelly sweat?
The scarred woundedness that oozes green gross disgusting stuff?
The pores on my skin open with it and no matter how many bandages I try to cover them with, there just never seem to be enough
Enough
I’ve had–enough
I’ve come–to the end
And hang on this rope by a thread
I loosely dangle over a pool of grace
But I am afraid
If I fully let go You’ll flee from me
The blood and gook and ooze will be too much for You
My lust
My shame
My feelings of inadequacy caused me to hide in the comfort of another
Lose my sanity for a while
Even all the while–You were there
My blood
My sweat
My tears
You traded them for peace
You nailed them to a cross and they oozed out of Your feet
Your hands
Your sides
You became my mess
A bloody mess
On a cross not fit for a King
And now I am a Queen
Beauty is more than skin deep
And still you made this brown skin beautiful
And still you clothed me in royal clothes
Still You attracted me to an attraction that was more than just physical
Intimacy is more than just physical
And now I know, because it never sustained me
And now I know, only You can sustain me
Me and my mess
You are my mess
And I am your Queen
