There I was, folded up like a rag underneath rubbles and brimstone,
No hope for recovery. no life to live. bound by deception.
There I was in the lowest shelf in an antique shop, collecting dust
Who would want a broken, undone, ceramic doll?
the doorbell, clanged each time someone walked in
their shadow left behind them, barely noticing me.
There I was in a forest, look where my wanderlust has brought me
screaming at the top of my lungs, abandoned by woodland creatures
searching for a sign of light between the leaves of oak trees
nothing but darkness paving the way for more darkness.
There I was living in the mirror of my insecurities,
written off, never smart enough, not pageant worthy,
There goes the black sheep, trouble. Bad news. scurry!
near death, doubt, fear, addictions, witch.
They said, our first daughters never becomes anything meaningful
they must stay at home and take care of us in our golden years.
There I was crashing under the wave of the ocean,
heaven knows I can’t swim to save myself
But slowly your voice repeatedly whispered, “Be still”
from a mere whisper to a voice to a steady transient command;
“Be still, I’ve got you” and then you quickly added, ” It is well”
How could I have been so blind?
Obviously I have been detained by grace
For when I was barraged under rubbles,
when I was in a carton at the back of the antique shore,
You called for, and paid for me.
When I told you I’m no good with commitments.
when I denied you seventy times,
when I was roaming the wilderness of insecurities,
I was found by you.