The Answer is not Changed

Do I?
Do I not?

The answer writhes in my hand,
knowing it full well
I try to crush it in my hands.
But it will not be crushed.

I hide it in my hands,
but it screams out it's truth,
It's part of me, the answer,
I am partly the answer.

I try to stifle it's yells,
I am afraid of anyone else knowing it.
Afraid of having that tender and vulnerable part of me
known by the object of the question.

I try to stifle the answer,
I try to stifle myself,
To crush a part of myself,
And I bleed.

Wrapped in the obcession
of my battle against myself
I had not heard God,
Calling me to stop hurting myself!
How had I forgotten that I am his temple?
How had I tried to crush that part of myself?

The answer cannot be changed by me,
not divided, not forgotten, nor it's value lessend.
The answer is,

I do.

By Jared

I've been thinking a real lot lately, and among all the waffle that went through my brain there was some actual thinking, and I've come to a conclusion.

The answer needs to be turned over to God,
I reckon I've done that.
Trusting God is somtimes a bit like offering my arm for an tetnus injection, you know that there will be a jab of pain and a local reaction that swells to the size of a tennis ball (well, it does for me), but I know that result of my trusting God to do with my answer (or is it his?) is like the benefits of the vaccination. Tetnus does some terrible things to the body when it gets a hold. I know some of the(really cool) people reading this would call the description a "fast forwardy" bit. So I won't.

Anyway,
Slàn!

J