Sarah,
Your hope was that this poem would make you feel seen and valued. You described yourself as empathetic and bold, and also chose to share aspects of your faith in the Lord with me. Although I don’t always go the direction of integrating faith or belief narratives into my poetry, I was excited when you told me that — particularly in relation to your story — because it reminds me of the greatest Empath of all: the Christ, who—if it can be said that anyone does—truly sees, knows and values us.
I chose to write this poem from His perspective, as one both in and outside of the time that constrains us all, and is perhaps especially threatening when we’re dealing with emotional trauma and mental un-health.
Although there are declarations throughout, I also wanted to paint pictures. (I know how Enneagram #4s want to see the beauty they hear). :-) I particularly enjoyed the “rivers clashing” analogy that you’ll see/hear below, as the idea of separate streams connecting seems beautiful in its own right, and even more so when analogous of people who think that they are alone, discovering an “other” who is quite like “me” to flow through life and sing nature’s song with. Like finally, all of the rushing and rapids and worry are calmed in the burbling trickle of the quiet stream—the salve that we are capable of being for one another.
You also said that you wanted to feel understood. I sometimes worry, given our trigger-warning world, that perhaps I’ve painted “understanding” in too graphic a way, but I think that there is probably some importance in calling things the way they are (for instance, the reference about your cutting being far from a cry for suicide, and more-so like a means of release needed to keep living). Of course, while I hope and pray that this temptation dissipates, it seemed as though, from what you said in your email about how how “self-injury is talked about the least, and you had a hard time opening up about it because you always got shut down.” I am a very firm believer in speaking things out into the open, and doing so bravely, no matter how taboo they may be, because I believe the truth sets people free, and even the painful truths that we must truly see in order to truly leave.
I titled the poem “May I Have This Dance?” Because I’ve loved the idea of “the divine dance” that the trinity has sometimes been described as, and they way that each member pours himself out in sacrificial and self-giving love. And how absolutely crazy to think that Jesus says the same spirit who indwells him now indwells us with that same love. The same love of the Father (which I know has not been - or was not always - reflected in your own father’s character growing up) poured out toward us. Hebrews says that we have a Great High Priest who suffers and sympathizes and understands our pains and weaknesses, and we are not alone. I love this and find it to be the deepest source of comfort in the midst of pain and confusion.
Presence.
Perhaps I’ll let the poem and the highlighted portions therein speak for themselves. I hope that you find this to encourage you in the way you had hoped. You are so worthy of the love that you seek, and that love has sought, and found, you.
:-)
Levi