A Pretender’s Confession

A sweet breeze sways the trees

but it’s a dry and barren desert inside me.

I’m infected by with a disease

that despite my unease, I can’t appease.

Flowers bloom, even the moon is new,

but inside I’m black and blue—

scars and wounds like tattoos

I wish were untrue. Wash away with shampoo.

I raise hands to praise, fall down to pray,

but I’ve been flatlining for days—

a dissonance I can’t dismiss.

We aren’t supposed to exist like this.

I admit I’m a pretender, but please, God, remember

Your promise endures, like an ember.

Through my dark, its light is a tether,

glowing hope against hope forever.

I think You’re late. I don’t like to wait,

but something about it dilates

my soul and reclaims real estate

for Your glory to decorate.