a poem about poetry

if i used my words

less cryptically 

maybe i'd reveal 

too much.

this throbbing,

raw wound

wouldn't be glorified

at all as 

beauty

and everyone might 

see the horror

and the agony

in loving

deeply 

the ones who've 

caused your pain.

maybe if i made 

myself

less a mystery

then people might 

understand more;

like the ones 

closest to me.

but i've realized 

in trying to understand

myself

that i don't want to be 

known by the wounds

others have made

or in the way

i deal with 

this pain.

because these things,

i've learned,

are not what define me.

and that,

is how the healing 

begins

in realizing that our

wounds are not 

in the slightest our

identity.

so maybe using cryptic

words to 

reveal this pain

is my desperate need

for honesty.

i am covered 

in the blood of 

these wounds 

that were left on me.

this burden is 

still 

so heavy 

that i cannot bear

to carry it alone,

for the agony.

he has shown me,

that though 

there is sorrow

for the 

pain

this is not 

at all where 

i am to stay.

i have the hope 

that one day

i can touch these

wounds 

and they will be

merely marks;

translucent

 scars.

then i will

be able to tell 

my story

in freedom

and i can let 

him be glorified

for the grace 

and mercy 

the redeemer 

has shown me.