Ode to a Bruised Reed

A bruised reed he will not break,

and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.

To my past self ....

 

I love you.

You were weak,
You were battered,
And your pain was unspeakable.
It's unspeakable still, and it lives on
In mind and body.

I suffer the pangs,
But I don't want to distance myself.
Instead, I want to wrap my arms around you,
Sink into your pain,
And whisper,

I love you.

I see you then,
Wild eyed, misery driven,
Desperately chasing the control
That escaped you utterly,
Until you lashed out at those you loved most.

I'm not ashamed of you.
Not anymore. 
Instead, I want to draw you into my lap,
Stroke your hair,
And murmur,

Shhh. I love you.

I remember you:
Tyrannized, leaden, hopeless.
In a fetal curl on the floor,
Drenched in suicidal darkness,
Wearing clothes that hadn't been washed in a month.

I feel your despair,
But I don't want to disconnect.
Instead, I want to lie close beside you,
Clasp your face in my hands,
And say,

Don't give up. I love you.

I love you just as you were
When life didn't seem worth living,
And you didn't feel capable of living it.
When abuse was all you knew,
And hope taunted like a desert mirage.

I love you just as you are—
A bruised reed,
Wounded but, by the grace of God,
Unbroken.

A bruised reed still anxiously imperfect,
Occasionally undisciplined,
Too often insular and self-absorbed.

Yet today, despite my flaws—
past and present—
I can say to myself,

I love you.