a tiny box lies open before me,
i am unsure of what to put inside,
maybe i will offer a cry, a shedding of tears;
a letting go of feelings too strong to label with words.
then maybe i will offer a sound, a wailing;
drawing in every pain, pushing out
every self expectation to remain composed, silent.
another tiny box sits before me,
of what will i place in it,
for i feel i have not much to give,
what is acceptable, what is desired?
what will be received as admirable,
things that make me doubt, maybe
things that make me fear,
or what about things that make
me independent; things that hold me
tighter than hope, trust and love.
aren't they supposed to give
the tightest hugs of all?
why does doubt and worry squeeze me,
tell me everything will be okay as though
they are asking me a question?
when did i get this way?
when did fear and worry seem more
like good friends than trust and joy?
when did love frighten me more than fear?
Change Me O God,