Welcome to my blog. I'm afraid it won't be updated too frequently, as I only write when moved to write. These are a group of my poems, as written through the often difficult trek of the past nine months (at present) of my life.
I hope they speak to you and somehow reach the chords of your life, and that God will bring you through as He without doubt is doing to me.

God bless you.
~Jane Johnson,
August 14th, 2010

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

Unrhythmed Heartflow

I wish people could see me as I am.
Not what they see as me, but what I see as me.
For I know me better than anyone else, and my eyes paint a truer colour.
They say they see me with God's eyes, but I see faultiness in their thinking.
So how can I believe that humanity sees me with God's eyes?

Some people meet me and judge me by what they see.
How many people can see there is more than one facet to my soul?
I am not just the jovial, fun loving girl.
Nor am I the sober, serious, intelligent student.
I am not a bright, polished, admirable jewel of a woman of God.
The girl who opens the deep anguish of her soul to the few that love me, is not just me.
I am more than this. I am these put together, intertwined, with people seeing more of one particular side than any other.

I can be wistful, entertaining, educational, intellectual, bright and dark at a whim.
I can be cynical, sarcastic, dark and bitter, moments after being light hearted, sparkling and vivacious.
Why do people say I am wonderful? Worthful? Amazing? Awesome?
Why can't they see what I see in me?

Gutter dirt. Dragged through the darkness and in sin of my own choosing.
I look at the bright gleam shining above my head, what I once was, and shudder, turning away.
I hate myself for becoming what I despise, stooping to what I loathed, and doing it willingly.
I cannot forgive myself for what I have done. Days can go by and I live on the froth of the moment, never daring to turn my eyes to the howling beast that crawls within.
For if I turn my eyes and contemplate for one moment longer with consciousness, and not just explore on the surface, the corrupted being I am now, then my face would be soaked with tears I would be powerless to stop.
And I cannot afford that. Not here. Not now.

I cannot stoop to showing the me that is to the people around me.
I am afraid of their pity, afraid of their dislike, afraid of their acceptance.
I long to fight this out and free myself of the fear and the hatred and the passion within. But I cannot let the tears flow. I fight them daily.
I fear my family, none of who know what I have been through completely.
But when the lightning of my deepest sin flashes vividly like a searing fire on my memory, I groan at the deep agony and at what my sin has cost me; I flinch back and roll from side to side at night, trying to flee the demons pursuing me with evil laughter.
I am forced to look at what I have done.

And I look at other things. At what I can do to get away from this agonising emotional anguish. This daily torment.
I cannot drink. I will not take drugs. I am frightened that if I try to dull the pain, I will not be able to stop, and will wreck my physical life as well as my emotional. That will not help.
The knife's blade is sharp...areas of flesh unexposed could be brought under the sharp edge for a momentary relief in a moment of physical agony. But I've been told it's only short. What would be the point?
Life is sacred to my God. I dare not take what is not mine, more than I have already in other areas. And it would not be the end. It is a coward's way, not to face the pain, even though that is happening anyway. And then to see my God's aweful face in condemning judgment...I shrink back in horror.

Could one flirtation have started this God-forsaken track? It has...uncontrolled...unforgiven...unrepentance...agony.
The way is so dark. What have I become?

I turn from friend to friend, taking sympathy, love, hugs, support.
I must, to help me through this darkness, or else I would stoop to the blade, the wine.
Yet I loathe the dependence I have brought on myself. I, who was there for so many, now must crawl at the feet of others, begging for understanding, wanting to feel a love which is so far away...that none of them can give...
Wanting permanent support and love from someone, yet afraid that I can never be what I need to be to deserve that.
Wanting to be someone's closest friend to try and prove that I won't let them down...but I have already betrayed that.
Pushing for people to become close to me, so that I feel needed to have a purpose to live, day to day to day, instead of dragging this shell, so lifeless inside, up and on to face another morning. And they pull away, to live their own lives.

So I go on, still searching. For the support that I cannot constantly have. For the love I desperately want and cannot have.
Must I go back to the God in Whose face I have spat, Whose wounds I have contemptuously spurned, Whose agony I have despised?
Oh, my God! Do not send me back to Thee! I have turned away too far...down to the darkness, the darkness...oh God! Don't send me back there!

Then where am I to go? Caught in the middle of the blazing light which burns searing heat into my heart and the clammy darkness, which reaches out with cold despair in its fingers, pulling, tugging at my flesh...
My hands at my head, clutching my brow. Tears tearing at me inside I refuse to shed, through fear. Fear, fear, fear. My life is ruled by fear. Fear of what I am. Fear of rejection. Fear of myself. Fear of fear.

Rejection because of my fear, or fear because of rejection by so many...hatred...confusion...misery. What will it take to come back to where I was?
God, speak to my heart and overcome me. For I know not what will happen to me now.
My hand reaches to lay hold of the knife. Will Your voice speak to arrest my soul?

Was this a poem?
I do not know.
The unrhythmed flow of my heart
Spoke out into words which in my blackest time and deepest sorrow
I cannot frame into rhyme.

God be with you all.

~ Jane

No comments:

Post a Comment