Made holy, made pure, with that rushing water, those flowing words. Cleansed and cleaned, healed of my hurt, I stumble away, unsure what to do, with this new, this unbroken me.
I no longer hurt yet I can feel the scars all the same, they’re in my blood, they are my name. They are my form, my bone and soul, the ghost of them does remain.
Cleansed and pure, I remember that hurt, the suffering inside, and I realize now I’m lost unbroken but still broken as this form was never meant to be mine.
To hurt, to suffer, to break apart like glass and ash to drift together again, that was my calling, myself and soul, the part of my name implied but never known, unless one can see those scars and wounds that make up that part of bone and blood, those wounds that never heal but just grow and grow.
I lost those in an attempt to stop the pain, but the pain was simply me, simply fighting what was meant to be, what had happened before shall happen again, in seeking a cure of doomed myself instead, for to learn I must break, and in the cure my body has forgotten all that pain.
I attempted to make pure what was already clean, there was sin yes, but nothing truly defiled resided with in me, nothing evil or wrong, just hurt, the pain of living, the pain of learning, it tore at my soul, and now I’ve gone and made myself forget, forget all I’ve known.
My scars were a story and my life they did tell, they were part of my name, blood and bone, my very soul and now I’ve gone and wiped my own home clean, of all that I’ve collected, all that I once did know. Now must struggle in a broken life with a body made whole but not holy, not pure and cleansed, unbroken is unburdened, un-scarred means you have not lived, for life is pain for all that it often leads to smile and hope, it isn’t the bright that teaches us to fear the dark.
No it’s the dark, the hurt, which makes us learn, it’s that pain that makes us wise, and it’s the bright that makes it worth it. The dark is the teacher, the light, that’s the prize.