iron

I hate that it hurts this bad.

To give something up,

to lay something down.

No matter how much I want to hold on
or want to spit or swear or con,
I am not meant to be that person anymore
so I hide my thoughts in drawers
and yet some how they get thrown on the floor.

You say it is ok, trust in me.
I come and that is what you ask of me
but I come and think I'm not becoming free.
Do these chains have no key
or have I been holding them but not able to see?
Is the fight always constant?
Is the fight always frustrating?
When I'm fighting that fight is it with them, Him or me?

Yet still I search to find hope,
to find freedom and healing,
to know myself as someone worth saving.
I am tired of learning just to cope,
I want to be more awake
and about how to learn from mistakes.
I will walk in this grace
I need to look things right in the face,
not to run away and hide
but to embrace and die.
Die to myself, die to my wants,
die to all the things that haunt.

Just as surely as the autumn rains come,
the leaves fall and the winds blow,
I have to believe that this will not be my home.

When flying through the air, free to roam,

I will find where I belong and hopefully land low.

Then peace and pureness comes in a new snow,
and again this will be another beginning this I know.

I hate that it hurts this bad.
To give something up,
to lay something down.
When an ox unyokes I wonder if it struggles,
with anger or apathy or maybe it just giggles.
To give something up or to lay something down,
how do you act, do you smile or frown?
What other feelings to get, sassy or sad
I guess it depends on what choices you had.
To be free or to continue to juggle
all the things inside your bubble.
To give something up or lay something down
is to change into a bag or a gown.

Bags don't fit us properly
and gowns are just to fancy really.
It might hurt this bad because we settle for a bag.
It might hurt this bad because we feel so unworthy of a gown.
We beat ourselves up with a punch and a kick.
Every little scab we reopen by continuing to pick
hoping to perfect ourselves like a cats single lick.

Maybe the gown is not that hard to achieve

maybe if we treat the scab it will eventually leave.

Is the gown free and can we please just receive?

To add to all of these, with the gown comes a crown.

To add to all of these, usually a paper bag is brown.

I want color, I want class,

I want to holler I will not pass.

This might hurt more than I know

but I will give something up

and lay something down.

Mold me like I am some dough
so I can wear a gown and a crown.