how a liar dares that’s not enough

forgive how quick
i praise—thank you,
thank you! i said
hoarsely, fresh
out of slumber.
we both know
thomas & i unravel
the same thread.
you can’t give me
a nod, an open
handed: “yes,
my darling,
take this gift—
mercy & grace.
peace, i leave
with you, prospering
slow upon crooked
road.” needing press
against skin, tangible
proof accomplishment
has been, instead of
gaze across a screen.
silly, silly girl, always
believing this body
must be watered
with material
i can’t still
my brain
to read,

What happens when you get an email with good news & you thank God so immediate. then, you’re alone & the prowler comes: “you sure that’s enough? you won’t be able to hold this. Blah blah blah…

Dear Devil, today a promise came: Commit your work (poetry) to God & my plans will be established. Your voice has been consistent as the soreness in my feet from walking today. And guess what? You laughed over the rejections last month. You made me doubt, wonder, think giving up writing was the best option.

God sat & listened. He watched me swallow salty tears. Felt the break of my heart from believing this would make me happy.  Holding my own work in my hands. Watched me hang my head in belief this was it. Nothing would become of my work if I couldn’t hold a magazine in my hands. Any opportunity where God shows himself through my words, is a gift he graciously gives me. I don’t want to glorify myself, okay? I know how you think worldly riches will please me. I cried over my publications in one magazine. I don’t want to cry over this.

I don’t want to let you rattle me, make me think this is too small to amount. God wants to see how well I do with small and if I’ll accept this. I’m already shaky. So I’m going to sit here, listen to music that will make me praise Jesus, and remind myself he is the supplier of all needs through his riches, not you. Sp please, stick a cotton ball in al the lies already.

Sincerely,

a girl who may need to borrow those cotton balls

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