Who Can I Trust? (A Poem)

Putting up a front.
Holding up the mask.
Smiling, making them all think I'm happy,
Wishing the smile matched the worried face within.
Laughing, hoping my body and mouth won't betray the tears behind my eyes.
Making small talk.
Fearful to share more.
Mingling, though my soul lingers near the wall.
Hoping. Praying.
Glancing back and forth.
All those faces of the small group that welcomed me.
Wanting to trust.
Yet wanting to escape.
Been crushed too many times.
Been hurt too many times.
My nature to give a helping, nurturing hand freely hindered.
My quick desire to trust and return kindness slowed.
I question the hearts of those around me,
Hesitant. Afraid.
What if they see my imperfections?
And pretend to care only to refuse me a later day?
What if they see the rough side of this strangely cut stone?
Gotten so good at only showing the polished side.
Happy, helpful, serving, giving, flirty, spunky me.
The facets that benefit those around me.
But what about the rest of me?
Hurting, crying, angry, sorrowful, worrying, mistake-laden me?
The facets that are so sharp they only serve to hurt those around me.
Every rose has its thorns.
Mine is a hedge.
Growing thicker and thicker.
To protect the tiny new bud of white from passersby.
My old bloom ripped from it's stem and trodden till it bled.
Scattered to the four winds.
Hope grew a new blossom.
The potential for an ever greater, more beautiful flower.
But it grows so slowly.
While my thorns grow longer and more dangerous.
It is wrong to keep half of me bottled inside.
But I cannot trust.
I must not seek to abuse the friendship of those around me.
I cannot burden them with my problems.
But if I keep it inside I will destroy myself.
And yet when I trusted, I was betrayed.
Is it not better to keep my friends at arms' length?
Only let them see the side I show the rest of the world?
But the pain does not cease.
And my old forms of escape fail me.
But I would not stoop lower.
I must endure.
But how many times must I break and renew?
How many times must I live and die?
And all in secret.
"Laugh, and world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone"*
I am a servant, I cannot be a burden.
And yet whom can I rely on?
Why would God place inside in me a need for companionship?
When I walk a lonely walk?
This ache that refuses to be filled.
This hunger for someone to talk to and trust with all of me.
I tremble at the thought of gaining, only to lose once more.
Is not what I have now enough?
Is not the very few I trust sufficient?
No. The hunger stays.
If only someone would love me:
For who I am and in spite of who I am.
To see my faults, my weaknesses, my past.
To look inside into the depths and love me anyway.
To be able to handle my imperfections.
If only someone could pull me out of those waters,
And help me from succumbing and drowning in this sea.
And help me to stop fighting myself.
Just to protect everyone else,
I keep it standing behind my "good side."
Like a shadow.
Dreading that anyone would notice.
And silently pleading for somebody to do just that.
Falling in the black, standing in the depths.
Hoping that someone would hear my cries,
But they just seem to echo off walls of my own creation.
Clutching the Flame in my heart.
Begging God to take the pain away.
He quietly urges, "Seek.
Let Me bring them to you.
I AM your strength.
Let Me bring you more of My children to support and console you.
Let Me, with My Spirit, comfort you.
I will provide."
Still I tremble.
Still I fear.
Lord my spirit is willing.
But my resolve is weak.
I am filled with doubt.
Help my unbelief.
Still I sit in the center of my room.
In clear view.
But so far away.
Can anyone hear me,
when I am silent?
Can anyone reach me,
when I keep up my walls
and hide behind a mask that is still myself?
Oh irony.
I fight myself,
Clutching my knees,
Rocking back and forth,
Like a lonely child.
Oh Comforter, oh Redeemer,
Give me hope and strength.
Show me who You have chosen.
Show me who I can trust.









*Quote from the poem Solitude, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Young Woman's Mind

     Guys. Have you ever wondered how on earth a girl can have several conversations at once and keep track of them all? Or how she can remember something from a while back and talk to you about it, expecting you to remember it as well as she? Have you considered the fact that many young women can be happy one minute and furious the next? Or how she can be discussing something with you and abruptly change the subject to something that seems completely unrelated?
     Girls. Have you ever marveled at an older woman's ability to organize everything? Or to have a conversation with you about one thing and return to a different conversation with someone else days later as if there was never a break? Or how a mother can handle work, kids, and social life all at once?
     We live in a day and age of computers and everything internet. Even this blog of mine is electronic information. Data. We also live in a day and age of "connection." Everything is connected. Everything relates to everything else. One tiny piece of data leads to another and another.
     It is the same in the mind of the average female human. Her mind is a network. Not just a storage unit of information and functions (Ahem, not like a man's brain at all, no.). Everything within her is connected. The synapses firing in her "little grey cells" touch one portion, one thought centre, and another and another. No division. Even in sleep, when the mental activity slows, the connections are still occurring.
     A woman's mind is the internet. Yes, things have their place, but it is all related. Everything integral to everything else in her life. Miss Google will have an answer ready for you, or she will make up one. She will offer advice whether or not you want it. Tell you that such-and-such is recommended for so-and-so even when it seems a little far fetched. She will have what you want to hear and/or what you should actually listen to. She is a sponge, soaking up new thoughts, ideas, relationship lessons and tactics. She gathers. She relates. She receives. She reacts.
     What she chooses to do with that network of a mind, that's what sets her apart.