Cleaning Out the Attic XII

(Three more until the series comes to an end. This next poem I’m sharing is called “Honesty Hour.” I plan to rewrite this one eventually. Until then, I hope that you enjoy it and that you get something from it.)


Be an original
Make this piece an original
God placed you here to stand out
You don’t have time for copies
Be an original
Be original

Grasping at straws
Handful of wisps
Digging and scraping
For justifications
In the pursuit of my own happiness

Don’t You want me to be happy?

The Lord tells me
I’m in love with the devil
And no matter how much I love him
The devil will never love me back

Satan has always hated me with an
–intense loathing

Yet I’m in love
And I don’t know what love looks
Total infatuation
It can’t be lust all the time
But then how would I know
I refuse to hold up it to my Father
To do so is incomprehensible
I  know it won’t stand
Because next to God
There is no comparison

I’m scared of the truth
I’m scared of a lot of things

For instance
I’m afraid to admit
I’m more comfortable
Opening up to 300+ followers
Than talking to my Savior
Perhaps it’s because I can’t see them
And they can’t see me
We’re separated by thousands of miles
And a computer screen

I fear coming clean
I have an accountability group
But no accountability
I hate to seek them out
Tell them when I’m struggling
There’s urgency to confess
I’ve fallen
Once again
Other days I await
For them to see through me
When echoes of
“Stop beating yourself up”
Pounds into my ears
As I think to myself
I don’t want to hear this
I don’t want to hear this any longer
Those echoes might sound different
If I stop withholding information

There’s a dark part of me
Its dominance is apparent
It quakes with terror
At the very thought
That I just might get my wish
And they just might speak their minds
And I
I will have to listen to them say things
That will more than likely cut deep
But are what need to be said

Still I choose the right to remain silent
I have low tolerance for pain
I’m too tender-hearted

So I keep quiet
I don’t want anything I say
Being held against me
When they check on me
Or ask how I’m doing
I say I’m okay
Even when I’m not
I say I’m okay
If I run into them in person
It’s show time
I think to myself
“Okay Jacqueline, smile wide!”

I read somewhere once
You can hide a lot behind a smile
I’ve been practicing
I think I’m betting better at it

And perhaps
Perhaps they’re right
Maybe I am beating myself up
Or then again
It could be
That I’m just too real for myself
I mean
That’s a natural reaction, right?
Especially when you’ve been lying
–to yourself for so long
And going around pretending
As though you haven’t done
–anything wrong

I don’t need sympathy
I just need some honesty
But I don’t tell them anything
I don’t confess to God
I just choose to complain to Him

Men I can’t have
Things I can’t do
Staring at opportunities
Like this is a lose-lose
Do I really want to do this?
What other option do I have?
I have no idea what I’m going to do

What’s the cost of mediocrity?
I’ve begun to settle for it
Or rather I have settled for something
Much less than that
Less than average is cheap
It costs nothing to get it
But in the long run
It’s expensive

It’s eating up my funds
I gave over some real life goals
Give God an expression that reads
“Oh my Lord Jesus I cannot afford this”

Only for Him to return a stare responding
By asking
Have you forgotten who your Provider
Your doubt makes Me question
If you know Me like you should
Because I don’t think you do
And I don’t think, I know

You don’t know Me as you so claim to

All out insanity
Truth hurts
And I fear its beat down

Either get off the pot
Or scrape the plate

It comes as a whisper
But what does that mean?

It repeats

Either get off the pot
Or scrape the plate
But don’t stick your hand into the
And expect to escape
You can only get burned so much
Before the last touch
Is the very last touch
Before the last thing you did is the very
–last thing
You will ever do

Slow movin’
Gotta think fast
Caught like a deer in headlights
I’m about to crash
Slow motion
Jesus wants to take the wheel
But I won’t fork it over
Figure He’ll fight me for it
As I make the brake kiss the floor
While simultaneously revving the gas

I don’t want it to end
Not ready to let go yet
Just like this poem
I’m not quite ready
I’m not ready to end it
I’m not ready—

I’m not, I’m not…



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