I’ve been trying to
force myself to be
okay

as if I can
rearrange my
spiritual insides
through sheer will

as if filling my
days with endless
tasks tasked to
prove I deserve to
exist can somehow
make me worthy of
what can only be
construed as gifts

meanwhile

my brave smiles
feel like frauds
I cry from exhaustion
on the drive home
feel unworthy of
thank you’s
ask constant forgiveness
when I pray
Most of all I feel
Guilty

How can I be
sheltered
in such a calm
sea of blessings
yet
acknowledge this
broken limb I
keep trying to
kick with

It’s like maybe
if I stopped trying
to force myself to
be happy
I could stop
hating the truth
that I’m not yet
healed

If I
stop tugging on stitches
mending
my heart could
beat free of this
antiseptic sting

Maybe if I
can just accept that
I loved someone
enough to upend my
spiritual insides
and I don’t want to
reinvent again

Because hope dies
last
and I’m still standing
with scalpel in hand ready
to donate heart, arms, voice,
this pen, sleepless nights,
tear-stained streets, yoga mat
cries and heavenward pleas

Maybe if I can
forgive myself for
mistakes
I fear I must have made

Then I’ll make space
for redemption to
enter in

It’s true
God heals us when we’re
broken
It’s equally true
I have to let Him