Marks of Bondange

I have a story.

Freedom from the past

Still leaves behind these bruises on my wrists

The imprints of my falls are a reminder of the hurt

The brokenness from before ...

I try to hide the past presence of pain and suffering

Hoping to be seen as perfect and thriving

A girl with a clean story. A happy story. An easy story.


But these scars tell of my previous bondage

The deeper cuts reveal the most

And Take the longest to heal.

Plastered on bandages conceal the skin forever changed

The tissue is stiff, it must be conditioned to function with the rest

I must move slowly, cautiously to avoid ripping it open again

I must pursue Gentleness to allow the healing

Wounds become scars, over time fading, the screams of the past stifled to quiet whispers


The past hurts haunt me

Even though they are not reality

Ghost pains torment me,

I go tumbling into the darkness

Sometimes I forget my totem

And let the false inception takeover, hopeless


But then a voice calls back to me,

The still, small voice says that I am whole.

That these marks tell the story of the one who was, is, and is to come manifested in me.

Reminding me that the pains of the past will not remain there forever

But that His healing transcends time, and broken vessels are no longer severed

The scars are formed by the sacrifice of the One who redeems

The wounds of the previous life are nothing of substance

These marks are nothing but a story of redemption.


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