Pretender Redeemed.

Chipped. Broken. Pushed aside. Cast off. Black Sheep. All her life these words defined her. Held her identity tight. Taking over all hope. Taught to hold back and push away. Too many time. A child broken into too many pieces to made whole again. A restless wanderer. Cover it up. Make believe in the idea of perfection. The companions made along the way taught her the words.  Too aware of her surroundings and the pain. She can’t feel the pain. It will break her.

Mimic.

She learned her greatest life skill. Mimic the feelings. The game is how she survives. Success is as dangerous as failure. Fade away. Drift into the distance. She’s still too aware. She can see too much and understand it. Those feelings are too much. Those truths are too dangerous.

Mimic. Copy. Hide. Repeat it. Over and over.

Until it becomes her song. The only relief she can find is in the game of pretend. The only safety she can absorb is in the fake feelings. Her lifelong companions taught her this. They shift pieces of her around. Confusing her more. Hurting her but convincing her that the pain isn’t as bad as the feelings that circle her.

Crazy.

That’s the word she fears. They will call her crazy again. They will mock her with it. Better to be separate than to be crazy. Pride covers her and the arrogance of being aware let’s her drift about. Never known.

Manipulate. Control. Hide. Keep Mimicking.

All the pieces of her broken soul cut. Hope that isn't hers starts calling her name. NO! Rage shoots through her. The one thing she can’t have is to be called forward. Her life depends completely on this. This hope won’t listen. She begs it to leave. Everyone has left her. She has left everyone. She is marked by it. There are too many broken pieces to be made whole. Her companions remind her of this and she clings to desperately. Another voice starts to whisper to her. She can’t bear it though. All those hidden feelings threaten her. No. She’s built her life around this. She can keep them away. She will hide more. The whispering voice can be ignored.

Mimic more.

Play a better game. The whispers more constant. Her companions mock her weakness. They tell her how she will be exposed. That if those whispers get through they will bring the feelings she can’t handle. Reminders of how weak she is crash into her.

Unwanted. Not needed. Fake.

She’s painted herself into a corner. Too broken to move forward. Too aware to trust. The incoming hope is too much though. Fixing pieces of her broken soul without her consent. It stings and her ever present companions remind her of how this proves her failures.

Mimic and pretend.

People without broken souls don’t have to be fixed. Fall back and hide. Don’t step forward. The girl is crushed under the weight.  Slipping farther and farther away. Reality more confused with her game of pretend. The muddles whispers break through her harden shell bit by bit. Drawing her against her will. She makes a new game. A mix of pretend and real. The feelings must stay away she bargains. She will bring along her faithful companions. The whispers challenge her but she ignores the words. Seeking only the bit of comfort she can find.

War. Broken.

The sharp edges of her soul cutting more and more. Her fears confirmed.

Rejection.  Alone. Fear.

Mocked for the feeling and knowledge. Unknowingly crushed by others. The hopeful whispers and fear collide together. Refusing to mix like oil and water. Tearing the girl apart internally. She has practice though. A master of the game of pretend. She lives there in the chaos. Willingly tossed around. Refusing the anchor. She know the cost of choosing. Notice. People will see her. Years and years of being the fake. Mimicking is her way. She can keep going. She decides. She controls. The forward march breaking bits off her shell. For all her awareness she can’t see the what’s happening to her. Blinded deeply to her own self. The wounds start to bleed more. She won’t acknowledge where they came from. She will ignore it still.

Blood pouring out. Scars burning like fire. Terror building up.

Crazy. Lost. Hopeless.

Her companion’s voices remind her of what is at stake. Hold it together. Keep pretending. It’s all falling apart. Her cries are frantic. She can feel it breaking now. Her companions mock her. The whispering voice is getting louder. She is stuck. Unable to move. She can’t handle the fight. Desperate, clinging to all she knows. But it keeps falling apart. She can’t find her familiar choice. Fog has covered all she knows. Her companions yell and fight. They turn on her. Blaming her. Confusion? Aren't they her most faithful help? They have protected her for so long. The whispering voice is now louder than anything.

Silence. Alone.

For the first time she hears silence. All the voices of her companions stop. She is exposed. Scared. She won’t look up. She knows the look of disappointment. She can see how she was fooled and tricked. Tossed about by choice. She won’t bend still. To look up would be failure. She can’t move from the prison she made herself. Locked away by her own self. The words rush forward into her mouth but she keeps them locked away.

Confession. Truth. Light. Freedom.

She won’t listen. This must be a trick. Those words are not true. She tried that before and she was attacked. She will not again risk it. Anger rising up. It seeps out. Finally. Years of anger realized. She can’t stop it. She on so tight for so long. Hidden away in the depths of her inner most being. Her biggest game of pretend, finally broken. Her jagged soul shattering again. Pieces cutting her and drawing blood. She cries out in pain.

NO!

She will not feel this. She is a fake. She knows it. Whispers come again. The silence that had been filled with her screams now filled with whispers of a familiar voice. She begins to lean into the voice. Suddenly though like then a sudden wave dragging her under those familiar companions return. It’s different this time, their once calm face now contorted and snarling. The rage in their eyes burns. Their voices hallow and angry. They grasp for her and claw at her face.

More blood drawn.

She already knows what she will do, give up. Return to them because the fight is too much. As suddenly as that wave of misery hit so the resounding roar of the voice that was just a whisper. Silence again. She can feel the fear radiating off her old companions. Confusion comes again. They fear nothing. Cocky with pride, always. Now weak and cracking. Whimpering away. Their nasty faces turn back to her and screeching their last taunt, “YOU WILL FAIL!” She shudders and falls. Their words sting.The roaring voice speaks directly to her in a whisper. “Child you are mine. You are made whole by me.”

Fear. 

She has never been whole. She has never been loves. She can’t be now. She can’t be shown. Her games are too complicated. She can’t feel anymore. She is a mimic and fake.

Lost. Broken. Hopeless. His.

All her wounds expose her hurt. Slowly and painfully she feels them begin to heal. She didn't ask for it though. Grace. This foreign word barges into her soul. It makes no sense. How can grace be for her? How can anything make her whole? Her broken shattered soul is in too many pieces. Slowly her ears bend. Her will changes. The voice closest to her becomes his whispers.

Forward. Strength. Wise. Words that can’t belong to her but He has given to her. Clean. Hope. Whole. She is lost in them. Their power divine. Then she is reminded.

Broken. Fake. Mimic.

The taunts grow again. These familiar voices beckon her and her will begins to crumble. She can’t bare their call. Their once sweet words and welcoming faces disgust her now. Their faces marred and snarled like monsters. Their voices howl like that of a dying animal. They can smell her weakness like a wild dog can smell the blood of its prey. Every slip and they are there. Never relenting. She knows this. Too often still she is tempted to turn into these voices. The pull great. She wonders how she will ever be fear. Her whispering savior reminds her that she already is. But these old friends touch her and she can feel it. Their long cold heavy fingers leaving traces on her. Surely she can’t be cleaned now. She made her bed with them. Willingly choosing them. Asking for their distraction. She believes their slick lies again. She trusts them more. Because what they say is true.

Like thunder crashing his whispering voice cracks. “NO! What is mine is mine!”

Fallen broken pieces. Tears well up. No one has claimed her. No one showed her persistent truth. No one stood for her. They all let her break and took joy in it. Their extreme silence and ignorance of her soul broke her more than anything. She became the master of pretend to hide from them. She mimicked to separate from them. She sees it now. She sees the one who was persistent. She knows His name. More importantly, He knew hers. She sees how He saw her the whole time. Never once outside of His vision. All her games fooled herself most of all but never Him. He knew the whole time what she was doing. He knew she would fail. Her face is shocked.

He knew.

Her jagged broken wasn't hidden from Him. It wasn't cutting Him as it cut everyone else.

Still the dark voices of her past come to attack. Still she falls for it. Weakened and fearful. Desperation. She sees the cycle and cannot break it. Time and time again she stumbles. Sometimes even intentionally looking to lash out. Her flesh winning and feasting on the game of pretend it craves. Her old companions taunt her with how they have won. Always though the whispers call her back longing for her. Welcoming her into the safety of His words.

Still she feels the hot breath of her oldest companions following her. She longs to be free of it. The whispering voice continues to speak to her until that is the voice she knows best. He won’t release her from these harsh tormentors though. They are a burden she must bare to better understand the whispers.

Weak. Tired. Worn. Broken.

But this broken is new and different. It isn't hurting her. It makes her broken soul make sense. Her cost was so high. It took apart everything she was and the scars left cut so deep she can’t see their end. Her shaking body can’t withstand it but she can see that it’s no longer her that holds herself up. She can withstand the near constant assault because her soul can no longer be hurt. The deepest cute only scratch her surface. They hurt and she cries out for relief but the still constant voice always speaking over her tells her “Child you are mine”

Broken and jagged soul that cuts her. Broken and sad heart that scares her. Pretend and mimic that bind her up. Lost and alone for all her days. Those are the wounds that she carries. Those are her legacy. Until new life was breathed into her. She is still those things but no longer are those wounds going to destroy her. This whispers have turned them into her strengths.

Her broken parts show the goodness of His whispers. She only stand firm because of her weakness. Her desperation to be hidden only draws her out more and more. Her all to awareness lets her only see His light now. The ugly voices that spoke her name for long can no longer speak it because it is wrapped in perfection, that she does not own but was given to her. They scream and shout at her. They touch and attack but no longer can they claim her.

Found. Kept. Loved. Cherished.

She is no longer alone. She belongs to the whispers of the one that perfectly loves her before the start.