When life is turned inside out, we see what fabric we are made of. The seams that hold us together, weak or strong, are at least seen for what they are–ragged, shredding bits that look so uncommonly neat from the outside.
I’m falling apart here.
My soul is tearing into blood red pieces, held together only by salty tears, clenched fists, and breaths of poems and prayers.
My anguish forces me to offer up control I thought I had.
My desperation makes me fall into You—
the place I should have been all along.