I keep waiting for my heart to feel at home To settle down from the way it wanders and roams Permanently stuck in a temporary life I’m always searching for a better high Can’t make this knot in my chest go away Will fear forever have the final say? I’m losing my mind in this prison of doubt I once got lost and I might never be found Holding on to hope I’ve been destined to lose Don’t be fooled, we’re never allowed to choose Comfortably numb without any dreams Ignoring passion in attempt to appease Redemption long ago lost its appeal I finally realized fairy tales aren’t real No purpose, no pleasure, just simply mundane No matter the washing, scarlet stains remain Well, I’m uncomfortable in my own skin They say my lack of faith is a sin A tortured soul needs a little grace To look in the mirror and face her face
As a student of the Psalter, particularly the “Psalms of Lament” (which comprise at least a third of the Psalter), I very much appreciate the raw honesty of your poetry. Too often, we judge poets, rather than thanking them for bringing to speech those places in our hearts we’d rather deny. Such language makes us anxious about ourselves, so we tend to displace those feelings onto the poet. The willingness to express discomfort in one’s own skin is, for me, an indication of the courage (and comfortableness) to dare to express it–something most folks only long to do. If expressed lack of faith (or doubt) is sinful, then we walk in the good company of ancient poets whose words comprise much of the Psalter. Thanks again for your poetic voice. Shalom, my sister.