I’ve often wondered
What it feels like
To be on the other side of the pain.
Perhaps you’ve wandered,
Sought for sunlight,
Only to be caught in the stone cold rain.
Perhaps you’ve carried
The trauma into your skin buried
Now it’s crawled out to collect its dues,
And you’re baffled why it leaves you furious
When they pry apart your scabs
Who knew treachery could cause a thousand silent stabs?
I’ve sometimes wondered
What it must have felt like
When you found yourself bearing the bruise.
Were you blue, bewildered,
Wrecked, reasoned, and finally resigned
To the counterfeit life you didn’t choose?
How many yuletides have gone past
Until you’ve reached out, at last?
Unsuspecting, merry Christmas.
Their love was full yet didn’t fill
Your heart’s left a hollow cup still
Send the message, hope it finds no ill will.
You must have wished for
Just a wide-eyed glimpse
Of the other side of the pain
A life of wanting no more
A picture perfect bliss
But soon you’ll find there’s always a stain.
Because nothing’s new
On the other side of the pain
Same shade of blue
On the other side of the pain
Longing, just like you
For the other side of the pain.
Grace for the Impatient Artist
Starting something new often brings a rush of energy—followed by a flood of doubt. After days of pouring my heart into launching this blog, I found myself facing old fears: What if no one reads it? What if I lose interest? What if I’m not enough? But tonight, I’m learning to pause, be patient with my process, and cling to what’s true, pure, and praiseworthy—just as Philippians 4:8 reminds. This is me, slowly unlearning self-sabotage and learning grace.
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