Inadequacy is an actress, seeking stages where she can star,

The heart skips a beat—misfires—when life isn’t up to par.

Serrated heartaches and breaks have left deep, jagged scars

Inside.

Inside.

Where negativity is a squatter, fighting for free living space,

And my thoughts are Olympic runners in a never-ending race.

Emotions play a predator’s game of tag and chase;

Chaos is the king, and confusion rules the place

Inside.

Inside.

Venomous words from the world cut straight to the marrow,

The outside shell is brittle, the internal path is narrow.

The shelf holding self-esteem begins to tilt and lower;

What was once a skyscraper is now debris on the floor

Inside.

Inside.

Outside: Polished. Inside: Demolished.

A proverbial train wreck.

Visions of the “End” start to wreck the deck.

It’s mental. It’s heavy. It’s not coincidental.

So many voices, so many choices.

I used to think silence was a deafening sound,

But it’s a whisper compared to this poltergeist crowd.

Demonic thoughts—pushing, shoving, screaming to be heard—

How absurd, that the mind is a riot, yet the tongue hasn’t whispered a word.

Then—at a fever pitch—a frequency shift—

The name of Jesus cracks the atmosphere like a gift.

The crowd recoils:

“Who’s screaming that Name? Why call Him so soon?

We were mid-execution. We were sealing your doom.”

But the will to live just crawled out of the tomb.

There will be no black dresses, no eulogies for this sis,

No “Gone Too Soon” banners, no “She didn’t deserve this.”

Whew.

Bullet dodged. Spirit aligned.

But I won’t sleep on the enemy…

I know he’s plotting for “next time.”

Inside.