Shame

These are just thoughts I'm dealing with ....

Shame

Dear God,
I have for you a gift.
It is not mine, but I have carried it for most of my life.
It was hers, you see, and I have taken good care of it for her.
Not because she asked me, you know, but because I thought it was my job.
It forms the rolls of my belly
The round of my thigh
It has been shelter
My excuse
My umbrella
I have hidden behind it and used it as armor
But it has left my empty, tired, and void of compassion.
I have cried too many tears I found myself fetal-esque on the floor
All because I have this gift that needs to go to you
I have continued to carry it with me not wanting to feel the Son’s rays on my heart
Too afraid to put it’s protection down
But I’m done now, Lord
I do not need it. It is yours.