honest words

I have this deep desire to create something beautiful.
A desire that is likely rooted in the fact that I am a woman.
But I feel as though I’m inadequate to produce anything even close to beauty,
a feeling that is likely rooted in the fact that I am still learning to embrace who I am.
I feel I am missing the necessary tools that are needed to make a masterpiece.
It’s as if the creativity I have lives split into small pieces and spread across my body.
Hiding from itself in my fingertips and in the very edges of me,
barricaded behind a fear of failure and unexplained doubt.
Trying desperately to pull together the pieces, I become fully aware of what I lack.

My words are not eloquent.
My hands are not skilled.
My mind is not sharp.
My heart is too broken.

I have nothing to offer,
I have nothing to show,
I have nothing to bring forth.

In the process of gathering, yearning, and grieving,
my heart is exposed
to myself, to things, to people,
and to an enemy’s arrows.
Easily struck,
I fall forward.

I look at the feet of the presence I’ve ignored
I stare into the eyes of this invisible maker
and in that moment I understand

I was meant to be empty handed
For all along, it is me who has been the created one.