Blood, Sweat, and Tears

His bones cracked

His skin ripped

His screams curdled

Blood. For me.

He cried for me.

He died for me

The pride of me.

Lies. Eyes. Mouth. Hands. Mind. Words. Lust. Hate. Jealousy. Judgement. Gluttony. Procrastination. Abuse. Abortion. Pouting. Whining. Taunting. Joking. Craving. Hoarding. Seething. Yelling. Sneering. Kicking. Screaming. Sniffing proud-nose-in-air. Adultery. Disobedience. Greed. Idolatry. Narcissism. Blasphemy. Laziness. Murder. Dishonor. Fornication. Pornography. Pride.

He took the pain

for my free reign.

I am bound

No more, why

Do I hang

On to what I

Should not.

My eyes, blind,

Can see right

Through myself

With a glass

From Him. The

Wine. The Bread.

Thorns stuck

Inside His head

Beaten in with

A stick. The

Sickness of sin

Turned Him in,

But did not read

Between the lines.

He wrote my story

With His glory

Intertwined with Mine.

I may thank Him before eating

My hamburger with cheese.

I’m a good person

“Thank you” & “Please.”

I never do cuss…

Out loud – but in my head.

I talk about Him…

Profaning His name.

I know I’m loved

So why not splurge?

Because with His

Blood the world purged.

Globular scarlet

Staining the ground,

Drowned out the

Sound of laughter from

Your lame pun.

His gravelly throat

Screamed, clouds covered

The sun. Blood, sweat, tears

All mingled in one.

Sweat through eyes

Blood through scalp

Tears through wounds.

Skin carved away

With 9 tails to

Roast on the spit

Of a Cross.

He wouldn’t stay

Up by Himself so they

Tacked Him up

Pinned Him down.

His palms splintered

With the wood.

They didn’t bother

To sharpen the nails,

Just tried to decide

Which end would

Drive faster through

Flesh into wood?

He thought of my


Your puns.

Her mouth.

He pondered them all.

“Forgive them,


They know not what

they do.”

He took the blame

Pain, blood, nails

Tails – 9 whips

With shattered shards

Of glass woven into

His back.

He died. Of pride.

Not His, but Mine.

I killed Him, but

He’s not dead.

He went through Hell

For us to tell

The rest of the story.

He didn’t stay away

Just for three days

Then He rose with

The sun. The Son.

He died for me,

Cried for me. The pride of

Me. Now lives.

How can I not give

What He asks of me?


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I am a 7-year-old​ stuck in a twenty-something's body. I enjoy long walks on the beach and peanut butter on waffles. If the following combinations of letters mean anything to you: OYAN, LotR, F.R.O.G., AiO, OBPC, DIY Then we can be friends. And if not, we still can be friends!

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