I heard you say, “God does not give us more than we can handle.”
But God did not give me this bruise,
this scar
this memory,
this burden,
this cage
These are not gifts from God.
Do not tell me to have faith.
I am being burned out,
Slowly and deliberately,
But it seems faith was the first to catch fire.
There is a powerful rhythm to this poem, with the longer, lyrical lines punctuated by the shorter, almost percussive lines. The last stanza and especially the last line really spoke to me.
This belongs in a poster in every battered women’s shelter and, possibly, in many or every church.
Oh my goah, THANK YOU!