Streams of Comfort

I used to think I was immune to perfectionism. I like things done well, and I take care of myself. However, I did not see perfectionism manifesting the way I saw it in others. In my life, perfectionism wears a different coat. It lies in my silence. In the things I don’t say because I don’t want others to see my weaknesses or mistakes. Over time, the silence weighs on me. It isn’t until I give my shame to the Lord and confess my failures, that I feel at peace. No longer searching for the impossible. For perfect. This poem is a reflection of that struggle. I hope it brings comfort to those who struggle with silence and not wanting your failures to be heard.

There’s a type of shame that lives in my trembling fingers
It coats the tears that fall on this page
The salty water that flows into my open wounds stings.
-Except it burns.
Silence is its power.
I have a mind to clean my mind
Remove myself from this head space
Maybe mental distance would be enough.
-Except it wasn’t.
Silence is its power.
I tremble, still, and open my mouth
My brain doesn’t know the right words
Believing would reject them anyway
-Except you won’t.
Silence is its power.
You, who created me,
In spite of the reality you knew I would wrestle with
Whispered I love you anyway.
-Accepting my flaws.
You are my power.
Alice R, 11/27/19