Unchosen scars

Oh, to be a lotus flower. To feel the water below, and the wind above, and to be neither. To be totally sure of one's purpose and form. To be peaceful no matter what dark skies may gather or what flood might push petals adrift.

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I took your hand because you offered it. I trusted you because you seemed trustworthy. I had never met someone with two faces before, and so I thought the face I saw in the daylight would be the face I would always see when I looked at you. I had never seen "menacing", "cruel", "sadistic".

And I had never felt lost. Grief. Broken. Alone.
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Taking back what's yours means radically accepting reality. You don't look, act, smell, think, or live like the child that was lost decades ago. There is all kinds of bad and ugly mixed up with the good. Like water washing over a rock ledge, soul erosion follows the blows of trauma and changes you forever.
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Why me? Why then? Why that? I set aside my mountain of questions and hold instead my broken soul. My words are drenched in sadness as they flow from me to the God who has always seemed so far away.

Started first with confiding
I didn’t know I was too young
to hear secrets of deeds after dark.
Mixed sensations, mixed emotions
No one teaches how to fight evil when
enemies come dressed as friends
Every good thing soured
Every bad thing my fault

Heart too broken to shed tears
Days and months become years
Lies tangle up the real you
And you become just who she said you’d be.
Sure of wickedness
Wary of professed innocence
Every good thing undeserved
Every bad thing punishment.

Addicted to the feeling
Of flesh ripping, peeling,
Places tender grew strong
Places strong now unprotected
She no longer needed
To wield her weapons, demons
You’d do it for her
Knife drawn across flesh.
Because the worst of it was
that she made you believe:

you are rotten
you are filthy
you are defiled
you are shameful
you are rejected
you are worthless
you are beaten
you deserve it
you are a toilet
you are a toy
you are to be tortured
you are not a girl and not a boy

Every bad thing accepted
Every good thing selfish

Only saving grace is the music
Of a life is never one chord
Bittersweet melodies
Violent mysteries
Felt and grieved for,
And hope springs from the ashes
All those million lashes
Are the scars we carry
- the scars He carried away -
and
Dissonance highlights harmony
In this beautiful symphony.
Every bad thing just a bad thing
Every good thing His gift.