Cracked Clay Jar–a poem

Shame on me, indeed.

Shame on me, for sure.

How do I forgive myself

for all the years I spent

standing outside love’s doors?


Shame on me, for sure.

Shame on me, indeed.

All those years spent

searching for everything

except what I really needed.


The crap that I poured in

this cracked clay jar I am

seeped right back out

and left me needing again.


The places where I looked

In that neon-plastic liquid world

The numerous wrong turns I took


Do you look at me, broken?

Can you see

This cracked clay jar I am?


Poured shame on me, indeed

Placed doubt on me, for sure

And now sad to have settled

For this world of lack,

Always getting

Only to be found needing more.


And why should I expect

You to come inside?

What earthly reason would you have

To extend your hand

And take what might not be there

or to pour yourself in

just to leak back out again?


I spent so many years so proudly single, and when I met Becky I had to wonder why she’d ever want to spend time with someone like that.








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