I burned the bridge that tore my feet
And left me weak and ragged.
The person on the other side
Has no clue why it happened.
I feel a prisoner set free:
I love the me she would not see.
That bridge brought only grief to me.
I cannot mourn its loss.
It’s possible destructive pride
Now blinds me to the other side.
What friendship I have here denied
Has not a chance to happen.
In prison I don’t care to be:
The ugliness she poured on me
Again I never want to see.
I cannot get across.
I know my frenemy is sad,
And for her pain I can’t feel glad,
But fear connection would be bad.
I cannot see it happen.
Away, I feel alive and free:
Protected I prefer to be.
Between us lies a troubled sea
That only God can cross.
November 11, 2016
Expecting to work on some writing and cleaning projects this morning, I was surprised — and a little horrified — when this poem showed up. Tears are streaming down my face as I write this. I feel that God is calling me to rebuild a bridge that I comfortably burned with a family friend. I pray for this old friend all the time, and I know she is also praying for me. But I don’t want to build this bridge before new boundaries can be set. To do that, I think I may need to tell her a brief overview of my reasons for burning the bridge in the first place. I have no clue how to do that. Feel free to pray for me.
And if you tell me how to pray for you, I will gladly do that, too.
Oh, and in other news, I apparently was drowning too much in my own tears earlier when I posted this to see an egregious error in line 5, which I have now corrected. I hope there aren’t others. But if you see any, go ahead and tell me so I can fix them. Thanks!