When My Flesh Explodes

photo by Patrick Hoesly

Everything is changing
and no one wants to talk about it.
This makes my anger flare with my nose.

I’m angry because I am the therMOMeter in the house
and it’s up to me to make it all work
and do it all with a good attitude
but I can’t when we don’t talk
and I feel furious and confused and out of control
and I’m not loving it.

The temperature is getting hot
like the lava livid lake of fire
in my gut that wants to spill out on everyone and everything
until they all retreat to their respective rooms
afraid of the smoking volcano that is me.

It doesn’t matter what was said or done,
my RESPONSibility is to RESPOND
the way that He wants and to be very honest that makes me mad too.

Everyone else can explode,
and I am to forgive and forget
but when I finally spill over then I’m the one with the problem-
a sorry excuse for a human being.

Why do I always have to be the grown up?
I want to stomp and pout like a toddler
thrashing on floor until I’m too tired to continue.

Half-way apologies bring the whole thing to a crescendo
and now my behavior is worse than anyone’s
and so any point I might have had is now moot.

It’s too late to act right the first time,
and I’m still feeling a little too stubborn to make it right
yet I feel His breeze in my soul cooling the fires of hell with a calm sea.

A friend randomly posts this scripture
So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up.
and I can not deny that His voice is speaking
but will I listen?

I don’t even know how to do good
and so I’m asking You to show me and to
help me not to give up anything but myself.

I look around me and the grenade that
I’ve ignited has left wounded everywhere
and I wonder where the medics are and if they can do anything.

His voice whispers in my ear
that He’s given me the balm of Gilead
but I must bow my knee in humility and apply it to those who have been hurt by my words.

There are bits of flesh everywhere
and I realize that most of it comes from me
for I’ve swallowed the explosive and hurt myself more than anyone.

I open a gift from a real live author
and read, “God, heal the parts of me that don’t want to be healed.”
So I breathe in a God-breath and beg to be cleansed.

Because when wounds are not cleaned
they become infected and infested
but the water of His Word stings as it heals my wounds of self-affliction.

I am healed, but left with scars
and I hope that they serve to remind me
of the ugliness of my past so that I can cultivate the inner beauty of kindness.

Create in me a clean heart, o Lord.
And renew a right spirit in me.
Cast me not away from your presence, o Lord
Return unto me the joy of your salvation.

Linking arms with Emily:

Joining D’Verse Poets