Twenty3 (a poem)

Twenty3 almost spoke me out of my destiny.
She revealed flaws long concealed by effort and growth;
She unearthed the decomposed corpse of who I am, who I was;
She hurt anew hurts that had scared, she made them cry blood afresh.
She nearly killed me.

She tried to convince me that I was the wrong I'd given into,
Tried to make me believe my identity was redefined, altered, flawed by my frailties.
She threatened to tell the world my downfall, said it'd be better if I walked away.
She nearly had me.

But then He reminded me of His mercies, made new every morning;
His unending, unfinishable love, for which I am not consumed.
He told me my identity and destiny could not be divorced, that they were eternal, that the call was irrevocable.
He revived me, gave me direction and awoke my hope.

She said I had lost, 'why bother?';
He said He repays the years the locusts have eaten.
She said I was too weak;
He said His strength is made perfect in weakness.
She said I was beyond repairs;
He said he was the Potter who made over the clay that marred in His hands.
She said 'where will you start, where will you begin picking up the pieces?'
He said, 'I am the beginning and the end'.

So goodbye Twenty3.
You lost.
I'm still here.