Ready, Set, Grow

hoarfrosted grass

Where tears met the fog,

Your armour grew –

Negligee wrapping

Pain in more palatable form,

Deflecting eyes from

Bones brittle as death.

If you allow the Light

To strip you naked

(Sinews and seams

Bruised and bare)

Your genuine

Can grow.

Advertisements

Bare

Bare,

stripped down,

denuded.

I am as I was born,

naked before Your eyes.

No fake smile,

no mask.

No last-ditch attempt at impressing,

for You know what I am –

broken,

scarred,

warped.

My defences are useless.

 I quiver before Your thoughtful gaze.

Shame lowers my eyes,

makes me blush to my roots.

Your scrutiny never wavers.

Nothing You see surprises

or sickens.

Wounds can’t make you blanch,

welts have no power to revolt.

Rather,

when I dare to steal a peek,

I discern something new.

Is it – pride?

Admiration?

Longing.

Loving.

Accepting.

Sobs shake me,

autumn rains to wash away

former visions,

mirror images.

All that is left is –

me.

And

You say

I am enough.

Bare…