There's a magic in the world of margin of error
Even when I write sometimes I don't even just write what I think and feel anymore
I try to pretty it up for an unforeseeable audience of hypocrites
Souls ripped apart by machetes made of false hope and
Hearts torn to shreds by promises of a worldly love
Inhibitions shinning through like the depths of hell through a crack in the pavement from an earthquake of reality checks
Why is it so hard, I ask myself, to be satisfied with what this world has become?
What I have become.
He answers me, saying that there is a greater power than the knifes of broken trust amongst humanity
Than the pellets of lead penetrating my chest at rapid fire screaming in my ear drums to
Greater than the past of what's been done
He wraps me up in His gentle embrace and with His soothing words, He tells me that He loves me
That I am worth dying for
I am worth saving
He tells me that the grades do not define me. He tells me that my family does not determine my future.
He shows me His everlasting Grace so lovely that not even the devil himself peeping into my soul could end it
A new creation has been born again
Not just patched up but made new
Bathed in love and mercy
So next time I think about prettying up my life
I will listen to Him and how gently He pushes me towards love that abounds amongst the wildfires inside of me
And I will thank Him for He was, He is, and He is to come.
No more margin of error waiting at my door to knock down my joy
I am a margin of error.
I am what He saved
Because He is
No one and no thing can steal this
It's everlastingly having an impact
Sent across a sea
Filled with thin papers of the fear holding me back
He broke the bottled societal message to show me just how much I needed Him
The pieces of glass now forming a beautiful art of wonderment at peace