Laundry covered the bins. One sound and she’d jump in fright, were they coming for the last two months rent? She kept a flashlight near her bed because she never knew when they’d finally shut off her lights. Her fridge looked back at her, bare. Just as empty as her stomach. Cocktails. Online men. Slices in her skin. These were her escape.

Self hate had already over stayed its welcome within her mind for years now. She knew she was to be used and absused, she felt so strongly she deserves it.

Where had she learned her hate, her truth? Follow the creaking, you’ll find a door. Now you’ll see where she, at four years old, laid. Enduring hell’s darkest of acts. Snatched innocence then became blurred lines. Choices she made as a child, she could never re-make, they continually lit the fiery flames of

Self hate.

Look around in that room! Turn your head away from the bed with its ongoing crime, now what you see all around, stuck on the walls, is the inner thoughts of that child’s mind. Grief is gushing down the edges of every corner, wet, wounded. Fear so tight that the air is removed, stop holding your breath, why don’t you just, breathe? Breathe in the despair, the destitude, and that rotting flesh that’s being spoiled. You rush to the door, you have to escape, but you look back, at that child, where she lay.

Would you grab her hand and take off running? Or would you leave her there subjected to darkness’s hell?

Beauty was in the room. That child.

A blossoming rose. So sweet and wonderful, you would never know, if you just leave the room. If we just hold on to the ugly truths we could forget to grab the hand of that child that needs us. A child that dreams. That will surely grow and become. That child just wants home within herself and for it to be safe.

Though now she struggles with taking care of herself. Or believing the best. She growls and she groans. Everything in that room consumes her, but she’s reminded of this. She only needs to grab the hand of that child and remind her, you’re the beauty from the pain. You. Echo in self hates ears, “I made it all these years, I survived the darkness, and I am a beautiful soul, worthy to live freely and whole.”

Beauty was in the room. That child. You. Me. We are the beauty. We deserve a field so vast to grow. We deserve to become. To dream. Freedom. Spit truth in the flames of self hate until it goes back to hell where it belongs. You’re worthy because Jesus died for us. We forgive because he died for their sin to us.. And we can be raised up from the grave of these twisted evil rooms, and all the lies/ grief they leave us in. Grab this remnant, Jesus. Don’t stay in the room. In the fear or despair. He can heal the wounds of every ‘room’ you have ever stepped foot in.

You are his love,

his beauty.

You may ask where then, was he?

While we were in the rooms, He was on the cross. And one day, you’ll never have to cry another tear.

Selah.