For everything I’ve ever tried to hold, I have a scar.
A scar from the struggle it took to secure what didn’t want to stay.
For everything I’ve ever sought to possess I have wounds, deep, empty ones betraying what I would rather keep secret.
Private disappointments…public rejections and barren hopes…spurned affections, adulterous hearts that stumbled in their faithfulness to my affections.
I have cried, I have wept over spilled love, cut myself on the shreds of a broken heart and watched my emotions bleed into every situation thereafter. In struggling to stop the flow, I bandaged myself in layers of denial, only to find the scars still there when I deemed it safe to look….new prospects picked at the scabs reopening old wounds and leaving deeper evidence of my previous pain.
Oh no there is no denying, I’ve tried to possess some hearts in my time and found them all slippery, too slippery to hold and call my own….and at the end of the day the only thing that remains in my complete possession is my heart…and the ability to make better choices….