‘Pity-Party Me Not’

Don’t Fall To the Devil’s Trap and Lose Yourself to Pity!

A sample from Book 8

 Pity-Party Me Not
 
save your grace
‒me crying in your face
maybe it's best to walk away‒
not have your good spirits replaced
with my selfish-daunting embrace
 
don't let me crowd your space
in a lost self-pitying race
I have to find my way
backward steps
not to trace
get up
move forward‒
there's a dream to chase
‒a gift
in my heart
God† did place
 
in all that oh-poor-me lace
‒wasting day after day
I put aside what's great
for others' self-demeaning fate
‒those who lost faith
not giving time of day
to words God† had to say
 
that day after day
turned to year after year
willingly serving myself up‒
a circling, dead-horse tray
my own bed made‒
self-pity's prized bait
 
around and around
up and down
burying my I
around, around, around‒
a circling maze
‒down, down, down
in self-pity I laid
 
to whomever'd sit and listen
I'd saturate‒
serve self-pity's cake
jump in with pleasure
without thought‒
bathe
smothering my I in hate
on self
adding burdensome's weight
 
flying free
in the greatness of unease‒
my eyes‒
lost in sedate
‒shielded behind bondage's tape
over my happy‒
anger's blackened cape
misery's base
I did drape
 
I closed all gates
let the sun's ray
slowly sink to night's blackened gray
‒down, down, down
in a mercury-ladened lake
'til I laid in waste
seemingly sealed in a darkened cave
 
I held on tight‒
my wilderness-mentality trait
fighting against moses' trusting faith‒
doing whatever it took
‒forget heart's break
with constant play‒
attending every sinful date
‒hearing God's† words
refusing to obey
falling down, down, down
not caring what's at stake
from reality‒
wanting to separate
losing to evil's webbing spray
 
everyone turned‒
from me
ran in haste
'til self-pity became my only mate
 
then came the day
deep inside me‒
God's† hand began to vibrate
my wavering faith
evil couldn't take
‒mixed-up signals
my heart began to translate
at first
a slow rate
raising from a bottomless crate‒
I began harder to pray
 
through all my mistakes
for me
God's† patience did wait
cradling me
as I lay
‒drowning in self-pity's tears
softly patting my back‒
knowing how slow this I operates
telling me:
 
it's going to be okay
take your time

it's your way to make
no matter the pace

it's never too late
‒whatever the case
I'll† help you break

evil's enclosed vase
 
harder I did pray
hearing clearer His† words
stronger became my faith
'til that magical day
His† light alone‒
out of that darkened cave
my way
He† did pave
 
here and there
self-pity comes, says hey
for moments‒
again
I lose my way
but as light as a needle of hay
He† lifts me
‒His† light pours within me
an abundance of rays
blinding evil's come what may
filling me with gentle's taste
‒oranges, apples, grapes
fruits of my labor
the brilliance of grace
my truth in faith
proving to me
nothing stands in my wake
 
so, each time
self-pity‒
I seem to embrace
just give me space
let me alone face
find my own way
backward steps
less and less to trace
each new day
faster and faster
I replace‒
that wilderness-mentality trait
‒evil's webbing embrace
oh-poor-me beckoning date
soon to disappear
without a trace
 
the deeper I pray‒
quicker and quicker
I re-find my way
 
with purer, stronger faith
realizing
it's not just a dream to chase
it's a gift‒
in my heart
God† did place
 
so, my self-pity
please don't embrace
turn away
give me my moments
to pray
my special one-on-one date
just me and my Lord†
‒heavy in faith
immersing my I
in words He† has
to say
 
‒no time limits placed
on days I pray
just know when I emerge‒
I'm stronger
heavily armed in His† way
so each tomorrow
I'll easily face
for I'm endowed‒
smothered happily
in His† amazing grace
Continue reading “‘Pity-Party Me Not’”

‘Yelled Sarcasm’

5 Ways to Heal ‘Self’ from Abuse and Trauma

 Yelled Sarcasm
 
speaking out of turn
oh! how this heart burns
 
this once gentle character
stripped
each time a tone of voice
tips
 
gone the plow
that once endured
for this ache!
there is no cure
 
once betrayed
bitterness lays
honesty...only the heart craves
 
that forever solid pace
yearned
‒left with only discern
 
out the heart‒
emotions...flipped
drops of dimes‒
where truth is clipped
 
all smells like week-old manure
‒nothing left that's pure
 
seconds, minutes, hours‒
turn to days
as what was
gets lost in a bitter haze
Continue reading “‘Yelled Sarcasm’”