I am not perfect

A common experience for me is spinning, blurry thoughts, aka “spaghetti brain.”

When I start to feel like this, I like to make sense of my thought through poetry. Recently, I was feeling confused and unsure – feelings we all know very well.

Welcome to the result. I hope it shows you honesty and truth. I pray it gives you hope and peace in the dark place.

 I am not perfect

Things are coming out of my mouth that I never expected

Trauma hidden deeper within my soul than I have met

I heard whispers of wrongdoings and injustices before

And spoke out passionately in favour and protection of the victims

I raised swords to perpetrators; selflessly and without fear;

Biting the hands of those who feed the weak with deceit

and pulling off veils of guilt from clouded and exploited eyes

Little did I know, I was defending myself in all of this

Fighting for my own honour

Washing away my own shame and grime

I never realised the depth of my contusions

Or the extent of my injuries

How could I not see my own history?

Was I not there; my own body, mind and spirit experiencing the tragedies I was gifted?

How did I not know my own brokenness?

Every wind-breath blows the curtains just enough to see the wilderness inside;

to open the blinds to reality

Every morning I have to convince myself to stay alive

Every evening I stay awake to avoid the terror of night and darkness,

but mainly the agony of waking up again

I enjoy walking the tightrope

The unconscious state; the line between life and death

The moments of relief before consciousness straps you with worries and emotions and expectations

Sometimes

Often

I think of how lovely it would be to be a robot

To be able to analyse everything clearly

To be able to assess situations fairly and completely

To avoid the great grief of loving deeply

and being rejected at an even more hidden depth

But here I am

A living, breathing human being

I am not a robot, but a vessel of blood, bones and spirit

Who for some reason, is still alive and still capable of more

I didn't ask for this life

and these days I find myself praying to trade it in for a better prize,

or just return it all together

But here I am

Someone who is alive

More than someone who is not alive

Different to someone who was alive but is now dead

Here I am

Tattered and feisty

Bruised and damaged

Sometimes scary and intense

Yelling with a bursting heart against tyranny and repression

Taking from my iron chest of anger and confusion and tendency to suppress my emotions

And giving to the world wisdom and depth and the refusal to accept what is average

This is not who I thought I was

I'm confused about my perceptions

But I'm enjoying the release much more

I didn't know I was so sad

I feel guilty for not meeting my own expectations

I feel guilty for not being perfect.

I didn't know I was fighting for myself

I feel guilty for the times I've wanted to let go

I feel proud that I haven't yet.

Don't let me go, World

The in between is not enough

I don't want to hide like I normally do

I want to beat fear to death with my shoe.

I want to be someone who wants to be alive

Every day I'm trying to.

Laura Miles is an excitable and fast-paced Brit, living in Australia. Loves: tea, maximalist fashion and people. Hates: details, brushing her hair and being put into a box. After committing to studying, she is expectant and excited to see all the crazy things that the Lord is going to do in her life.