At the core,
We know
sustaining our perfect 
me skin
is impossible.

Building moments
Painting the flesh, 
Self saturated, we try.
Hostile to outside
life and freedom,
We paint ourselves
into corners,
Pain traps.
Shattered meaning.

In being only self,
We lose self.

"But I am good,"
we cry from the corner,
Just echoes
of darkness
call back
"What is good 
good, good, anyway?"
Ashes to ashes,
Dust.
In a lost world
Could there be more?

It seems there...
in a child's hug,
care of a friend,
in stars, mountain tops, 
a bud drawing life
in Spring's new kiss.

Threads of a reality.

In a lost world
Could there be more?

Someone who knows me
sees me,
sees through me,
and yet loves me
holds me,
is prepared to die for me,

God sparks.

Poem Tags
#christian, #god, #good, #lost, #pain, #perfection, #poems, #poetry, #reallife, #seeker, #self, #spokenword
Prompt
How do we paint ourselves into so many self corners? Hidden pains.