She despises the spotlight but secretly aches in isolation.
In her desperate furtive attempts of disguise,
she disfigures her identity with the enemies’ lies.
She gasps for a smidgen of breath as she hesitates to set her bed of memories ablaze.
In her pirated moments of intentional quietness,
she daydreams of God’s promises for a pain free tomorrow.
She comes from a robust lineage of matriarchal warriors.
“Survival of the fittest,” her soul’s familiar mantra.
In her confined anguish and outward rebellion, God abruptly sends a word of comfort and meticulously closes her visible wounds to a microscopic afterthought.
Now, when she speaks of the former imprisoned chains, it’s a daily testament of how God’s grace and mercy sets the wounded captives free.
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