Bloom
It’ll be one year on the eighteenth
Since I’ve painted the roses red
And although I no longer want to die
A garden of scars remains on my side
Demanding attention
Screaming for remembrance
“You can always frolic through these flowers again!”
And I can’t always hear Jesus
When He’s hanging on the cross
Begging for my life-
For me
The one who shouted “crucify!”
So how do you tell someone
About the moments of doubt
The roars; the beating fists,
The silence when apathy hits
The “God, how could you do this?
How could you let something like this exist?”
How do you tell someone
About the moments you think
It’d be easier to eat the feast of the king
Than choke down
An old piece of bread
Every morning?
You take a deep breath and
Be honest.
Tell the ones who understand
What it means to wander
Through the wilderness
Unbind your vessels from the vines
And let the overflow of your heart
Fall from your mouth
Bringing rain to your drought-
Kneel before the flowers that bloom
Letting them train you in the art of opening up
And if the ones you trust
Offer to carry your load
Release your death grip
My child, just let go.
For it’s not good for man to be alone.
Or when you get the feeling
His handprints are branded into your skin-
And I say when
Because sin likes to remind us
Of where we’ve been-
Let the burn of iron to flesh
Provoke you to confess-
Tell your friends!
Undress, and let them doctor your wounds
The best they can,
Washing your raw and broken body
With the blood of the Lamb
Give your pores time to soak it in
Don’t try to exist with broken limbs
Healing isn’t something that just happens-
My love, you must chase after it.
So I’m already preparing myself
For the conversation
I will have with you,
On a rainy Sunday night.
Standing at the sink
Washing plates,
My hands will shake
And the plate
Will fall,
Existing to inevitably break.
I’ll pick it up
Only for the broken piece
To bring peace
To my brokenness
When it meets my hand:
A rose painted red.
I’ll turn to tell you
“I think I’m getting bad again”
But I hold my breath
For the tears in your eyes
Tell me you heard my
Blooming days ago
When the buds started to show
You’ll pull me in,
A florist with gentle hands
Naming me Fearless
Because I didn’t hold it in
Rae of Poeima 