Sunday, May 22, 2016

Ill-Fitting

A gift
They say,
Chosen
Just for you.

Be thankful
They say.
But I don’t like it!
It’s the wrong size
And the material is scratchy.

It’s a coat that’s too small;
A straight jacket
That restrains me,
Trapping in all the
Love and passion
I want to give!
And receive.

It’s a shirt
Four sizes too big.
Room enough for two,
But I wear it alone!
I’m lonely and lost
Inside it's billowing cloth.

You had ugly,
Uncomfortable outfits, too.
Torn, blood-stained robes,
A painful crown of thorns.

Unfit for most
But shameful, humiliating
For a King!

You donned
That wardrobe
So my crimson clothes
Would be white as wool.

There is at least
One wedding dress
In my future,
Though I’d like there to be two.

It’s perfectly tailored,
Sized to my form.
It does more than hide
My figure’s flaws,
It fixes them completely!

The material is soft
Against my skin,
Comforting.
Making me forget
Every hurt I’ve ever felt;
Healing every
Scrape, scar and bruise,
And drying every tear.
Every one.

That dress
Hangs in a closet
In a room far away;
But not far away really.

Because long ago,
Before you wore
Those torn, blood-stained robes
And had that crown of thorns
Pushed down on your
Tender scalp,
You willing donned
Swaddling clothes
So I could someday
Meet you
Wearing the gown
You made for me.


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