Dark clouds bring with them a heaviness; Stifling humidity that chokes rays of sunlight Threatening to burst into waterworks without warning. You shelter when the storms beckon, Enduring diligently for rain’s reprieve bucketing the leaks to cover your bases lest all your precious things get ruined. Dark skies cloud your judgement. Silver tongued plumes that birth unease. Sieving the optimism of the day to leave glum residue, and chiseling the edges of a smooth, polished constitution. They burst and fall and pour and pour flooding streets, filling banks, washing all away poking holes in the security of your home. But eventually They come to an end. Grey skies, weighty but waning, The sun will shine again.
My spirit is attractive and no, I don’t mean it’s pretty. It attracts energy; kleptomaniac for subtle meanings behind words and actions of my life’s almanac, all to subtly distract my mind from the intent of it all. An unseen attack, the bandit of my 26 year old adventure, The anchor in my grand caper that weighs down the paper of my self esteem because While I remain unbothered, my spirit bothers me. Since infancy, it has weaved insecurities based on evidences of perhaps and maybes All inclusive to the inconclusive notions of my worthiness. A fete of regrets, revelrous distress that says I am repulsive Cooler filled with intoxicating beverages that dull my judgement And leave me dancing to the music of my maladies. My spirit is attractive And unless I address the conflict between my truth and what’s true It will forever digress to the former. A divisive demeanor that says that my happiness Will always have a denominator of stress that leads me To become only a fraction of the man I’m meant to be Until I learn to stand up for myself, The mess of of negativity will always overwhelm my kind, gentle heart. Quite frankly, I’m still working on it. I’m still learning.
Seven is a number of completion; And I get that. Not that it is finished, But simply the fact That the summation of my desires have been found. It’s exact. The gem of who you are in contact with my needs. Without hesitation I sold the treasure of my insecurities And expectations, Just to buy the plot to get to you. A gem so precious; Hardened by pressures beyond my imagination. Miraculously compressed and condensed Carbon clusters That radiate Christ’s love uniquely. Deeply. A gem blindingly beautiful, beyond anything I’ve beheld, Eyes locked in at the heart’s behest. I could hardly believe them, but they speak no lies; They have seen none superior. A gem so pristine and pure; perforated by the light of the sun; Incandescent as you shine for His glory; Crystalline as you open up to me, And clear about the way you feel. A gem that’s here to stay Beyond flashy words and frivolous airs that has been tested and found to be innately true. A gem that I value More than earthly powers and possessions, Because they have all proven to be less than adequate. A gem to call my own, And in due time to claim for myself. Seven times, this gem has beckoned to me.
Quite frankly, a vessel’s useless if it’s in pieces. Honestly, it can’t hold a thing cause fluids pour out It’s admittedly foolish to even try. The artistry is lost; at best its host to memories But the imagery of it all is pretty much ruined. So imagine me Trying to hold it all together like bags of groceries Saving trips but bearing a burden I can’t really handle. It’s silly. Being jury to a crime I didn’t commit but finding myself guilty Locking feelings away because fragments aren’t pretty Or maybe I just loved the mess Unfortunately I really just cannot say. But I see what it has done to me. Though it’s ugly, I begin the journey To piece back together the broken parts of me. Friends who’ve seen the beauty in me And God the Master Potter and greatest attorney Assist in shaping this broken piece of pottery That’s nothing like it used to be, But can be so much better.
I never thought much of myself, just kept taking life as it goes Poured it all out for my friends and sipped on dregs But when I was thirsty, nobody ever offered me a drink I never stopped to think Hey, maybe I should save me some for later. I blindly let my subconscious be dictator and attribute their demeanour To mean Maybe I don’t deserve to drink at all. I bore holes in my flask just to eek a little bit more out And when people poured compliments they’d seep through with “They don’t mean that”s and “that’s not that special anyway”s. For all the love I’ve poured out, I’ve never taken into account the value of the vessel. Years later it’s a shallow mess. Still functional, but it works. Always used to pouring, Never to be filled. So when I asked to fill a glass and she said no, I shattered to splinters instead. Without pouring, what else do I have?