An excerpt from my 2014 journal that I was reading today;
My own words, not someone else's. My misguided emotions strung along on lies and accusations. Men.
Men.
Confusion wells up until it reaches my throat. I don't know of many men. Mostly just little boys. Children.
Unaware of their actions and the consequences that are sure to follow.
Men.
Flawless and imperfect. A conundrum. Not I.
Just one....Sit here. Don't leave me to my solitude. My longing heart.
Embrace me. Provide me a wall of force to block out the world's misdemeanors.
Let tenderness leak out from the great strength of protective barriers.
Softly. For I fear too easily.
Gently. For I dread to quickly.
Fondness and fearfulness are synonymous. For the vulnerability of my desire is hampered by the control it has taken.
You could hurt me, Beloved.
With the blow of one word. Or the edge of one glance.
You entrance me with a power to which there is no immunity.
Your words like rain are harmless and pleasant unless accompanied by the wind that is your anger, which swiftly turns violent.
The bite of your words like stones against my skin.
And these gentle drops of quenching moisture turn to instruments of torture that engage the devils surrounding me.
Proverbs 12:8
"There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing."
My own words, not someone else's. My misguided emotions strung along on lies and accusations. Men.
Men.
Confusion wells up until it reaches my throat. I don't know of many men. Mostly just little boys. Children.
Unaware of their actions and the consequences that are sure to follow.
Men.
Flawless and imperfect. A conundrum. Not I.
Just one....Sit here. Don't leave me to my solitude. My longing heart.
Embrace me. Provide me a wall of force to block out the world's misdemeanors.
Let tenderness leak out from the great strength of protective barriers.
Softly. For I fear too easily.
Gently. For I dread to quickly.
Fondness and fearfulness are synonymous. For the vulnerability of my desire is hampered by the control it has taken.
You could hurt me, Beloved.
With the blow of one word. Or the edge of one glance.
You entrance me with a power to which there is no immunity.
Your words like rain are harmless and pleasant unless accompanied by the wind that is your anger, which swiftly turns violent.
The bite of your words like stones against my skin.
And these gentle drops of quenching moisture turn to instruments of torture that engage the devils surrounding me.
Proverbs 12:8
"There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing."
