Now Playing Tracks

One of the poems I wrote whilst in a spiritual slump last year.

I sit here on Good Friday thankful for the death and resurrection of Christ.

I sit here this Friday with the knowledge that I am not a ‘Dead Soul’ as the title of my poem suggests, but that I am alive in Christ through his willingness to become my “black blotches”.

I sit here in the realisation that a mere “sprinkling” of his blood is enough to cover my “black blotches” of sin.

This life is a journey, and everyone is on their own journey.

I fail Christ time and time again, “I’m a mess who seems to mangle, everything within my handle” which is why I am so thankful for His death and resurrection.

His “sprinkling of red paint” makes my “white canvas with black blotches” brand new again, and again, and again, and again, and again…….         

Every mouth you’ve ever kissed was just practice. All the bodies you’ve ever undressed and ploughed in to were preparing you for me. I don’t mind tasting them in the memory of your mouth.
Was it a long journey? Did it take you long to find me?
You’re here now, welcome home.
Warsan Shire  (via wah-mos)

This is a heavy poem indeed.

(Source: oofpoetry)

To Tumblr, Love Pixel Union