Post by simplemusings on Aug 26, 2013 18:41:31 GMT -5
When you wrap your arm around my shoulder, is it my receiving or your achieving?
As my mind wanders, it ponders whether I know how to receive.
For I am often so high on the mountain of life's success that gravity would tend for things to flow from me rather than to me.
Or at least that's how it sounds from the dark pit I'm in.
For in the darkness, who can say whether he is high or low?
When you pull my body against yours, is it my receiving or your achieving?
Can it be both?
For I climbed a mountain, and built an alter, to burn all my past pains.
Praying I would then be free to be close.
But as I came down from the mountain, I tripped, and landed again in your arms, and still knew not what to do with myself while there.
When your lips dance upon my skin, is it my receiving or your achieving?
We forced ourselves into vulnerability, peeling ourselves open to reveal our brokenness.
And in some moments, I find such realness beautiful.
But in others, it seems an amassment of wreckage,
Standing tall between us
When I break away and run, is it my loss or your failure?
For after countless nights of wandering minds and endless days of recurring thoughts my soul decided it could not have you.
Not because you were unworthy, but because it was unworthy to be held by such beauty.
For brokenness is beauty only to the optimist, and one cannot be an optimist as they grow old.
So I must run.
When you chase me and you catch me, I finally receive, and I suppose you achieve.
For you hunted my like a lion, and held my like a python, forcing all my walls to come crumbling down.
And the rubble bruised my soul, but even that brought joy, for it healed to fit yours.
And now we shall live what's left of life, our souls and bodies and brokenness and healing all entangled.
For life is best when it's not what you expect.
As my mind wanders, it ponders whether I know how to receive.
For I am often so high on the mountain of life's success that gravity would tend for things to flow from me rather than to me.
Or at least that's how it sounds from the dark pit I'm in.
For in the darkness, who can say whether he is high or low?
When you pull my body against yours, is it my receiving or your achieving?
Can it be both?
For I climbed a mountain, and built an alter, to burn all my past pains.
Praying I would then be free to be close.
But as I came down from the mountain, I tripped, and landed again in your arms, and still knew not what to do with myself while there.
When your lips dance upon my skin, is it my receiving or your achieving?
We forced ourselves into vulnerability, peeling ourselves open to reveal our brokenness.
And in some moments, I find such realness beautiful.
But in others, it seems an amassment of wreckage,
Standing tall between us
When I break away and run, is it my loss or your failure?
For after countless nights of wandering minds and endless days of recurring thoughts my soul decided it could not have you.
Not because you were unworthy, but because it was unworthy to be held by such beauty.
For brokenness is beauty only to the optimist, and one cannot be an optimist as they grow old.
So I must run.
When you chase me and you catch me, I finally receive, and I suppose you achieve.
For you hunted my like a lion, and held my like a python, forcing all my walls to come crumbling down.
And the rubble bruised my soul, but even that brought joy, for it healed to fit yours.
And now we shall live what's left of life, our souls and bodies and brokenness and healing all entangled.
For life is best when it's not what you expect.