Girl, interrupted

We are interrupting normal service. To bring you:
That errant sentence that just waltzed into your brain
Uninvited. Uh huh. Yes, you better believe it.
By jerking your head you ignore it. After all, it is unmistakably
(Happily) convenient how no-one else is privy
To this torrential explosion. This unseasonal downpour. This volcano
Of words.To be honest I don't even have to listen: most of the time.
I cut myself some slack. The one place that can be relied upon
To offer sympathy: this blissful 24 hour access
To a non-judgemental ear.

To have a secret language, now that would be cool.
Slotting right into my uncover agent fantasy
Where I am magically skilled at evading detection.
But of course, the problem is I’m not. That I'd
Blow my own cover within the first three seconds.
But this setting's ideal and it will remain: here I can kid myself
That I am trying hard enough; that people are buying it.
That I really am defined by the mugshot that shows me:
Smiling and competent, raring to go.

Just never imagine you’re not the only one.
That someone else can hear this relentless verbiage.
Someone who’s capable of adroit interception
Diagnosing your motives, colouring in the gaps.
Cos your past can be sugar-coated. Your present avoided.
And me....me? I’m the epitome of leniency
At least when it comes to me. Apart from one complication:
I have been deceived.
Duped quite essentially. Fundamentally.
I don’t even know me. No, really. You just picked
The worst person to ask. I have never seen me.
Yes, I’ve seen a snowdrift of photos, captioned, arranged
Even the occasional video-footage (cringingly)
And like you, I keep tabs occasionally
Periodically verifying (That my face is the same.)

Mostly it is – make-up in place.
Eyes vibrant, reckless. Ready and hungering
But sometimes it dares with no advance warning
Without my permission, it presumes to change
Somedays it’s ... fatter. Sometimes more jaded
Volatile, living, refusing to freeze - reductively
Into a pose I approve of. The cheek.

But then again, you know you know deep down:
Your face is no logo - static and marketed -
Some engineered, photo-shopped frontage of you
- Secured against the hostile, prying and glaring
Camera lens assaults of an impersonal world -
Coaxing the mirrors, taming their stares.
Your face is your face. Which you cannot see.
Because a. your eyes are on it and
b. you have never been able to see it
Without the frantic need to check it’s okay
Which effectively – forcibly - blinds you.  To you.

So when he says, ‘You’re beautiful.’
Your heart will lurch but you do not believe.
He stumbles – he thinks - "You are quite pretty sometimes."
She must want to hear this. He thinks -
She knows she is beautiful. - Such a shame he is
Clueless. (Such a pain you are too.)

But you are your main problem. All your own hollow hankering
After somebody’s verdict (- everyone's verdict –)
Has hacked a hole so deep that the words
When they come. Will fall through. They can’t hold.
All that effort and fighting. To be truth-shaped. Realistic.
Saying you don’t even care. That you’re free.
"The eye of the beholder." In the sight of the beholden.

Still we are interrupting normal service. To bring you:
A different sentence. That just broke into your brain.

"Don’t tell her she's beautiful.
Please.
Tell her he is."

Fragile heart – there is beauty. It’s just not on your face.
He burns with beauty, a blazing fire
He is so blindingly, heart-stoppingly glorious
The sun cowers at the sight of it.
And the stars fade away.

If you had really seen beauty - I mean, really seen beauty
You would know it couldn't possibly be contained by
Your face.

But He is so beautiful, gracious and generous
He melts you into his likeness
Here is so much beauty - it spills over, it lingers
You get to reflect it. Reflecting his face.

"Please.
Tell her he’s beautiful. That’s all she needs."

I was not made to see myself. I am ill-equipped
To hear myself. Whatever filters through intermittently
Can be adeptly skimmed over. I control–alt-delete.
Stuff that is me. But which will (un)fortunately never make it
To the publicity campaign.

"Daughter, he knows you. He hears you. He sees you.
And he is not repelled."

And this is not because he sees your potential
(Though he does)
Because then you would only disappoint him when you don’t quite reach your potential.

He is gushingly proud of you.
Already. Now.

Daughter he loves you. He cherishes, treasures you.

And that is not because He has 20/20 foresight.
(Though He does) 

Not because He is looking forward to the day when He will present you: faultless. Holy. And blameless.
(And with exceeding joy)
(Though He is, and He will)

You are wearing His righteousness.
Already. Now.

Daughter, He loves you.
In your blood.
And your filth and your mess and your grossness.

And that is not because He loves the future version of you
That you’ll become when you finally start applying the gospel.
(Though he does)

He has set His love upon you.
Lavishly. Now.

Daughter, He loves you.
Just because He is Jesus.
And He is not a man that he should lie or change his mind.
He became a man to guarantee that you would not be left behind.

You remain in this love. You make your home in this love.
Don’t even try to go anywhere - there is nowhere else to go.
Don’t you dare check out the competition.
He's your prize and He has won.

"Don’t tell her she’s beautiful.
 Tell her she’s been beautifully loved."