Poem - Cracked

This is not a poem I usually categorise with my Christian poetry. I've been writing for years, since I was a young teenager, and my poems are generally like my journals - they allowed me to release my emotions and work through my thoughts.


I thought it was worth sharing this poem, although it doesn't seem very promising on the outset, it shows my belief about my condition; the fact that I was so attached to it and it was as synonymous with me as my own name. As John Kilpatrick said in his Prophetic Message, "your mind has already accepted that this is the way it's always going to be, but it's not!"

As I've shared the vision I had, and now I've shared the drawing I made of it, I thought I could share exactly where I need the healing. How deep this thing, this evil spirit of bondage, is rooted within me.You might also want to have a look at this post.

Cracked

 

For such a long time I have been chained

Bound and locked into a future without hope

A belief that there is nothing waiting for me

Other than a lifetime of pain and sorrow

Embarrassment and shame.

I have been brainwashed into thinking

That who I am is defined by

The medical conditions I have

That I must resign myself

To the fact that I am to be

A disgusting, ugly girl

For the rest of my life.

My skin, like that of a lizard; a wizened old woman

The dry, cracked land of an infertile, dehydrated world.

I accept that I will never be pretty

My skin will never be soft or smooth

I am used to it now

The majority of my life has been filled with this pain.

Physical, mental and emotional.

The envy, as a child, when my peers

Had their faces painted.

As a teenager,

longing for perfumes and bubble baths.

As a young adult, desperate to be normal

Smell nice; look nice.

No matter what, this is me

I can accept it, though I do not like it

That I will never be normal

My skin will never heal

The damage has already been done

Irreversible.

Even if there was a miracle cure

I can’t be sure I’d take it

I’d rather suffer excruciating pain

Frustratingly deep itches

Bed clothes covered in blood

Than to lose who I am

To lose the one thing

That defines me.

Without this condition

This ugly condition

I don’t know who I am.

I can’t imagine skin

As soft as butter

As clear as crystal

I am afraid

Afraid that I won’t be me anymore

If I don’t have the one thing

That has always been there

The very thing that is

Synonymous with my name.

I don’t like it

The pain it brings

The action of hiding my hands

From others

But it is me

I can’t change it

Can I?

Copyright - Lisa Davies, December 17th, 2010.

If you use or distribute this work, please keep it in its entirety, and link back to this page so that the appropriate credit can be given. Also, please let me know if you do use any of my work, just as a courtesy. It's great to have feedback :)