Even Petals Plead: Mercy.

I hear the words come

quick and prickly, a rose

meeting my eyes this morning

in black and white. A full sentence

this time, rather than two words.

All you care

about is her. Salts flashes before

my eyes wanting to drain this out.

Do I look like a golden child.

Yes, I follow rules. Yes, I do what I’m

told. Yes, I don’t like disappointing

those I love. Myself. Anyone, really.

These are my mistakes. What you

would call stupid. Why don’t I do

what I want? I want approval. I want

approval so much, I’m reading a

book to try and figure out what went

wrong with me in middle school.

Staying up until almost midnight

every night, trying to myself I could

handle a heavy workload. No one

needs to cut this down. We don’t

need to write a note to the teacher,

saying I couldn’t accomplish what

was asked. I spent mornings

desperately working to fulfill a

demand. I couldn’t fail her. I couldn’t

myself. The neighbor coming over,

asking happily: You’re still at that

table? My response the same every

time: homework. You know, I carried

this all the way to high school. 3.5

GPA with the President’s Award for

Academic Excellence. This award

everyone said I should be happy

about. The one I showed to Michael,

whom I thought I would marry,

looking at me with a complete

sadness, longing almost to be as

smart as I was. The one I wanted

to be so proud of me. He only

squeezed my hand with this

apologetic look I can’t shake.

Then, I went to college and pulled

off a 3.5 my first quarter. Even

though I ached as you did with the

divorce. I threw myself into this

work, because performance would

give me purpose. A smile. Atta girl,

no more pain. But, the As and Bs

only lasted so long, before I was

taken to church. Told someone I

wanted to walk. No more Cerebral

Palsy. At a stop light, driving back

from the service, this friend who took

me said: Julia, He died for you.

Being the child I am, I wept. I wept

as if Michael was breaking up with

me all over again. Why me? I asked,

gasping, choking, drowning in this

question I’m only starting to erase,

to make a period, instead of

hunchbacked. Jesus is the only way

out of this mess. The mess of this

forlorn, broken family, quick to throw

stones, forgoing ace bandages. We

all love swapping stories of we got

this scar, made it this far on our own,

without any help from anyone. We

don’t dare believe someone loved us

first. Someone sympathizes with us

on every level. The loss we feel can

be shown through Jesus’ closest

friends leaving Him to die at the

cross. Us, His children, denying such

an existence, though whenever we

stare into a mirror, His

lovingkindness gazes back. Maybe

this is why I’m in my own little world

right now, because at this beginning

of this week, I was trigged back into

fears I’d forget if they didn’t make

me panic. Los3 my breath. Make me

cry for my mommy. Make me want

Jesus to coddle me. I want to show

you, He doesn’t make me sad or


I only beg Him show me how to let

love come & stay freely, dismissing

the thief in the night.


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