The battle within, for your own pain,
A tug-of-war, longing to be witnessed,
Yet fearing to be fixed,
Caught between desire and shame,
Becoming both pitiable and loathed.
Though the struggle persists,
Less frequent now,
A testament to the healing that's occurred,
But still, there are voids within,
Places concealed yet yearning to be unveiled.
It's like a frenetic pinball game,
Echoing through mind, body, and soul.
You plead for healing,
For God to unearth those buried depths,
Knowing it's necessary,
So you ask, and He intervenes,
Achieving what you couldn't alone.
Yet, sometimes the haunted recesses resist,
Clutching at flesh and bone,
But you've commanded their departure,
And they must yield.
Thus, you endure the struggle,
Though it weighs heavily,
At times, exhausting beyond measure,
Yet, it's the path you've chosen,
To metamorphose, you must delve deep.
This too, shall pass.