My name means worthy of love.
Believed for so long that it was affirmation of some clearance rack value.
A bonus prize… useful for something someday realized.
Eventually this would ring true.
Somehow?

Today has whispered into my ear.
At last, this meaning I see
could be bigger than me.
A prophecy declared from the Almighty?
Words spoken over me from infancy?

Mandi. Worthy of love.

I must believe this. Claim this. Deserve this. Embrace this.

Labored for so long.
Behind the shades,
in dark rooms, in pain.
Heavy and burdened.
Hours logged.
Time was hogged.
Downward spiral of toxic seething bile.

Something new is turning, crowning, and mounting.

Fire that has raged war,
pressing and urging…
Burned down all these walls
bound with thick sturdy purging.
Ropes that are braided with cords
of deep rooted and tangled words.
Said flippantly.
Scarring.
Muttering hard.
Seared into me like a red hot branding iron.
Owning me. False identity.

Embers burned,
oranges and reds.
Snapping and crackling.
Knots untying in my head.
Smoking, slowing, and finally cooling.

Signs of spring now emerging.

Fresh and tender stems cutting through… cropping up from piles of ash.
A breeze on its way, kicking up dust, lifting pains.
Fresh, fibrous, sweet and raw.
This newborn relief.
Baby belief.

Value and worth.
Thoughts, talents, skills and abilities.
Waking up from a deep frost.
Weak and wobbling in fragility.
Fat and sedentary from lack of use, comfortable self abuse.

Upcycle these virtues…rely on them again.
Let the renovation begin…

Each limb, each crease and roll.
From the inside out.
Lord, let your artistry flow.
Come alive and emerge.
Casting away all doubt throughout.
Your knives and tools sharp but subtle.
Carving and molding.
Shaping. Holding.

Building.

Repurposing my heart beyond these limits I’ve been living in.
This voyage, this song brewing,
pens moving.