Baggage

But for all the baggage, who would this woman be?
Yet he would rather overlook all that has happened than knowingly accept damaged goods
But for this twinkle in my eye, would there be a spark of innocence left?
I think not, for the child has long since traded in her toys for loftier ideals and diamonds

Fear of the needles eye keeps me begging for forgiveness, yet there is none to be had today
Could it be that forgiveness is only won by our own acceptance of our sins?
Or perhaps there is nothing to forgive in this world of shameless experience and grave denial
Is He so different on the throne of creativity and destruction to demand we cower and obey?

Yet, here I sit pondering the advent of His second coming and lift my eyes in wonder at the beauty of it all
Mortality is nothing but for the experience; whether it be lived in sin or piety, it can't be taken back
So, here I am in all my baggage; a lover, a mother, a survivor and a sinner
It is my character, my fate, my lessons learned, but most of all, it is who I am