Scars

I carry so much shame,
Stains and scars from a life without You.
I've been a fool to play such a game.
Sometimes it's so hard to break through.

I have scars on my flesh,
That will not erase.
Scars put there by my own two hands.
Scars of physical pain.

Constant reminders of sin and despair,
Echoing our accusations of worthlessness.
Who will love me?
Who will put up with this disgusting state of ill-repair?

Jesus is there someone who'll understand?
Someone who will love me for me?
Who will look past my deep, deep scars
And see my inner beauty?

No one knows my darkest secret.
The thing hidden beneath layers.
Something I really do regret,
But has no remedy in prayers.

If I would've known
The cost for my actions.
If I would've been shown,
Things would be so different.

It makes me so deeply mad,
To know that I've been robbed,
By the thief of all thieves.
I think that's the worst part of all.

If I'd only known.

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And again a letter I wrote after this poem:

Jesus,

This poem is full of pain and agony. I think it's really a lot like someone who does drugs and such and later realizes that they've fried their liver. Or someone who relaxes and enjoys something fun and seemingly harmless only to realize down the road that they cut a part of themselves away and sold it. Truly sad. But one question I didn't ask in this poem was, "What can I do now?" Is there anything that can undo what has been done? Not really, what is done is done. It hurts deeply obviously but what can I do? Nothing can erase the scars of what's been done. All I can do is swallow my pain...no wait I have a better idea...why don't I give it all to You? You bought it anyways...when You bought me it was part of the deal. I trust You Lord. Regardless if I ever get married, have kids, whatever. I'm in Your ever-loving arms. That's my only hope. Truly my only hope! You have healed and cleansed me, I am not what I once was. Though in the flesh my scars remain, in this spirit all things are new! In Your sweet, holy blood I am made pure and as new. I trust You. I love You. I will not believe any other! You are my hope!

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This poem was about physical scars I had on my body from cutting myself with razor blades. It was bad enough that they were there, but most of them were satanic symbols carved deep in my body. They are still there to this day, but praise God they have faded a lot! I hardly notice them anymore. Only in certain lights. He is a God of restoration! Praise Him! :)