Fear

The pain in my eyes is hidden by a sheen of brightness. The only thing I can honestly say is that my soul is tossed upon waves like confusion. I don't know what I feel. I don't know what I know. I feel neither love, nor hate; thankfulness, or remorse. I feel so empty and broken. Sucked of all life and as if I am nothing but an empty cold corpse that walks around with the living. So broken; I want to feel love, but I cannot. My heart doesn't even quicken. How can I be so unfair to those who say they love me? How can I let them love me, and how can I say I love them when it's but a hollow, shallow emptiness choking me. I shrink like a cowering animal from causing people disappointment. Would I give into that to the point that I deny myself peace and happiness for the rest if my days? Let pride and fear rule me instead of being as bold as a lion for God? You see my struggle. I don't know what is a lie I've told myself and what is the truth; yes: my heart condemns me.
It's not him; it's never been him. He is good and godly, but is this what He has for me? At times I can uncurl my fingers and reach out a little, but my whole being shrinks in a frightened  revulsion when the thought strikes my mind. How do I get myself into messes like these? It's the battle between pleasing someone and being honest. It's easy to go along until you are alone and the immensity of the weight crushes you, but it's so hard to say the few words that could free my conscience and soul but crush another's heart. So hard. I guess the question is this: will I have courage, or will I cower? Or am I just deceiving myself again?
I stand and run in circles all day long and I fall over because I'm dizzy; I sleep and finally my senses return but I rise to only run in a circle again. I tried to walk a square, but the corners just fade away again.
"Perfect love casts out fear." No wonder I have no love; I am controlled by an uncontrollable fear.
If it never really lasted, was it ever really there?
How can I love you, when I loathe myself?
I'm in love with nature; I'm jealous to be alone with her. Bask in the moonlight; be held by the brisk air and soft light. Hear the orchestra of crickets echoing through the darkness; watch the moon rise, from dull gold to light too bright to behold, as it gains ground in the sky. Running hard to sit for a moment above where I sit and rest my head.
You know, I never thought I actually would seriously have someone. Someone who loves to tell me they love me. But how is it fair to that person if I can't seem to love them back? If my soul is wrapped around my feet and embittered, scarred, and pained by the past? And I realized that I got used to the feeling - the knowing of being alone. And I loved - I love it. Is that my problem? Do I not want to give up that life of solitude I had planned for myself? I shiver; I shake; I tremble. I don't know what I want. Or am I just too scared to be honest?

It's Me

Riddled with scars, here I sit in the silence.
It's not him, it's me. It's always been me. Either because I'm not content, or I'm selfish and I want my way, or I feel guilty, or I feel degraded. But these are all lies I've been fed like a complacent child. I say I want God but what do I do? Read a psalm in the morning and bless my food at meals. Is that a Christian? Or is that a title, a mere hypocrite like the ones Jesus scorned as whitewashed tombs and pits of vipers? I say I don't want to be that, but am I? Really? Who do I really want to be? What could be my potential if I just stop believing the lies? And look to His face?

Eating My Heart

This is eating me like an acid in the back of my throat; there is a lump forming in my throat and my head feels tingly and light and like it's being eaten away by doubt and worry and my breathing is shallow and even though I'm breathing it feels as if I am not taking in any air and my lungs burn with the worry and the questioning of if I have really done wrong; if I really have fallen so far as to convince myself to run ahead of God. I've been hurt by the words, how can I turn them around and say them so flippantly; so flippantly without even thinking. Have I been a fool again and just fallen? Why would I care so much for myself to disregard any feelings of anyone else? Am I still such a debased, selfish coward looking out only for myself?
I'm lying on the table and my chest is laid open and cut into pieces. My heart is being eaten by the cold air and it beats and beats and beats and as it searches to survive it beats out every drop of blood until there is no more to bleed; until there is nothing but air to pump. And it slowly dries and shrivels until it's just a tough lump of old muscle, waiting to be discarded; waiting to dissolve into the dust it was formed from.