spilling stories and ripping bandages
I borrowed roommates’ clothes and ate raunchy camp food.
I ran barefoot in the grassy green field and lay on a sandy wooden dock in the afternoon sun
We swam across the lake and got stranded in a thunder storm
I learned to play guitar and let a boy hold my hand for the first time.
Sister sent packages, decorated with stickers.
In long distance call on a payphone, I laughed with mum over my teenager attitude.
I grew in close to the father learned to really talk to him
In a dimly lit chapel we sang praises
we were asked to share
I wanted to tell of the tunnel I had crawled out of, how I was still walking toward the light sometimes blindly.
But I didn’t, I pushed the story down and buried it in shame.
Today I shared. I spilled it all to strangers. When the words were spoken, the labels
I felt them tear like sticky bandages lain on my heart.
now my eyes are heavy with sleep and sore from a downpour of tears.
Hate me for the truth
love me for the truth.
I’ll be okay, the lord will see me through
he holds my heart, a little sore and throbbing
he never lets go
listen to a bit of the story mum and I shared on the at http://www.drewmarshall.ca
interview will be posted on Friday