When you subject a wild rose to trauma,
it grows into a large bush, draping inself with flowers and leaves
covering the scars within ,
I am far from broken, i’m as broken as they come,
I question God at every given moment,
Yet he is all that makes me,
He is all that I had , so what makes me question his Glory?
Why is it that I suffer, every inch of my body in anguish,
The nights torture me, the spirits come and play in my room,
throw a party, and watch me weep.