The Wound

Deep in the shadows

there’s a little girl-

She might be 3 or 5,

14 or 21,

she might even be

44.

She has big blue eyes but they’re full of

saltwater,

and she’s looking down at the wound in her chest,

it’s bleeding.

The world has hurt her.

The people in this world have hurt her.

And the only tool in her surgical belt

is to cut out the world,

and the people in the world,

to stop the bleed.

Because these days, even paper cuts feel like knives,

and when she reacts like a feral animal to the cut,

the rage and the fear push the people away.

And then she’s ashamed.

All I want is to let people love me imperfectly.

All I want is the freedom to love people imperfectly.

So I turn to God for help and She

turns me back to the little girl,

At 3 or 5

or 14 or 21 or even

44,

And this sweet young one asks me-

“Will you simply lay your hand where it hurts, and tell me you love me again and again?

Will you let me weep for a minute with the grief of

It all.

And can we put on a song now,

and dance.”