I'm so sick of always being on my guard,
taking my sword in hand, ready to fend off the next attack.
The hairs on my neck are raised, and I pace in a circle, looking over my shoulder and whipping back to front again, just waiting for someone else to jump on my back, to stab my heart, to look me in the eye as they raise their sword.
I don't like that the ones I defend myself against are the same ones I call friends.


I'm searching for community that somehow I can't find.
I'm searching for someone who knows me, not someone who just thinks they do,

God, maybe I'm just searching for you. I obeyed, and now in this waiting game, even in the moments of grace I'm fighting to find you, to know where you want me next. Take up this sword, because I'm getting weary and it's so heavy... be my Conqueror.
And be my Comfort, because I feel like I'm about to fall and I want YOU to be the one to catch me.