Build Me

I stretch my arms toward the heavens like tall blades of grass, and I feel the sun beat down between my shoulders in sync with the rhythm of my heart.

I pray that it will help my wings grow so that I can really fly.

I ponder my day and choose whether I am going to struggle to build me, or let him do it.

Rely on my limited self, or let him help me through it.

Trying to figure out how to to take every breathe in iambic pentameter, outside of my own parameter, because I want people to feel me.

But first I have to feel myself.

Me being a human man, knowing that all men ain't human doesn't make it any easier to live a Christ centered life but I keep on, telling the enemy to keep out, so that I can keep us going.

Us meaning me, my rib, 2 hers and 1 him back out the house.

So far above water that we can't even get wet as defined in my mind.

So when I begin my day, and I think about building me, I think that I cannot possibly build the man that I need to be, not alone. 

So I keep my eyes on the prize and I focus on the throne.

PR