I’ve heard your story, but I have a story too, and it’s not finished yet.
But every time I open my mouth, you turn your back. I am screaming in your face, but you can’t even hear me. You’d rather go on and on about how perfect some new boy (emphasis on the boy) is. I came here to start new, why did you? Not every girl needs a prince, not every girl is a princess.
I’ve heard your story, but I have a story too. I HAVE A STORY TOO. But you might be too sensitive to hear it.
Every time I open my mouth, you avoid what I say. You’re dodging my words like bullets, and twisting them to new meaning, because everything is my fault anyway, isn’t it?
Oh, here comes your story, well I have a story too. Why can’t you hear me? Yes, I’m a Christian, yes I am growing, but that doesn’t mean I have it all together.
I was picked up from the dirty mess I threw myself into, but like a dog returning to its vomit, my insides are bleeding from the brokenness I have swallowed. And as I cough up this blood, you force feed me false truths, promising me you know me better than I could ever knew myself. Well I’m out.
Frick, I HAVE A STORY TOO! A story of redemption. A remembrance of a girl waking up in a white room with white walls, wearing a white hospital gown. But he led me to the paint and told me to color my world. God spoke; he reached out and took my hand, opening the door to something different and terrifying.
And you know what you said? That I have to get over it.
I’m telling you, I have a story too. And the fact that my wounds have been reopened and are staining your perfect life is too much for you. So I’ll go it alone, with Jesus at my side trying to stitch closed my bleeding mess as I run away.
I want to say goodbye, but he keeps slowing me down and pushing me back in the direction I came.
I’ve heard your story, but I have a story too, and it’s not over yet…