My life is a constant struggle, a battle of my will.
Every decision, every action, every word
is a product of the motivation of my heart.
The motivation of a fragile, broken heart.
I want a pure heart.
I have the number for a counselor
who specializes in dealing with self-destruction.
Most of me wants to call her,
sort these issues out for good..
But there is still a part of me
that likes the comfort of a broken heart.
Something inside of me still hates me,
and I hate to admit it, but when it matters,
that part is almost always stronger.
I am more than a conqueror.
I am not defined by an eating disorder.
I am not defined by a weak heart.
I am not defined by my job.
I am not defined by the mistakes I have made.
I am not defined by my friends, my family or my enemies.
I am defined by Jesus Christ crucified.
I am a pure and spotless offering before my God.
Last week I got my new identity in Christ
tattooed on my shoulder.
I am no longer forsaken,
I am no longer desolate,
I am called Hephzibah,
I am the delight of the King of Heaven.