The Dark Night of the Soul

I do not know how to describe the pain I am in.

BACKSTAGE

Pain is my mother
Pain is my father.

Pain is my origin,
but not my creator.

Brutal honesty bludgeons me. I bleed.

Dripping self righteousness,
selfishness, self centeredness.

I am petty. I am mean. I am a mess.

Perfect truth shines searing search lights on a
Deeply wounded soul.

If I say I am perfect I am kidding - the joker - fooling you, fooling me.

You fool!

All masked and rewarded I am instead "little miss perfect".

Prostitute of perfection to ward off rejection

Invisibly useful. I am profoundly absent as you are minded.



You don't see the limping wretch
beneath the tattered rags wreaking
of her wanton pursuit of your pleasure.

The baby in the blood bath wrapped in white linen...noticed; loved.
(Ezekiel 16:4-14)