my scales fall off in a moment of surrender and you grab them quick and hide them away. i am but a child, no object permanence, out of sight, out of mind.
“you don’t need these,” you say. “let me have them.” you wrap me in your arms and hold me close. you are all i need, you are enough. i am content.
but daddy, i am a but a child. i wriggle out of your arms, determined to do it on my own. how quickly i forget. how quickly i want more.
“more? more than me, darling?”
and how quick i am to selfishly whine, “you aren’t enough. i need more.”
[but my more is less. i know this deep down]
so i push past your loving arms to open the closet where you hid the scales, and i clamber up the ladder satan so conveniently put in front of me and i find that box, the one you’ve locked away. you stand in the corner of the room, watching sadly, expectantly, as i fling the box against the floor over and over until the lock cracks.
the scales fall out, dusty and flaking and stinky. “there we go,” i say, smiling at the familiarity. i sift my fingers through the box of rotting lies you had hidden away.
i’m not enough
you’re not enough for me
i want more than you
i need more than you
i want to be more than i am
no one will love me
this is all pretend
i’m not worthy
i’m not beautiful
i’m not happy with you
i’ll never be happy
i sit on the floor, surrounded by the scales of old sin and discontent. i roll around in the familiar bitterness, and the scales are getting caught in my hair, fluttering to the floor. the slimy stench is everywhere but they won’t stick to my flesh.
“damn it,” i scream. “why won’t you let me have what i want?!”
you look at me sadly. “darling, you’ve tried this so many times-”
“just shut up!” i cut you off. “your way isn’t working for me. your timing is leaving me lonely. let me do this.”
late into the night i sit in my old sin, picking it up in handfuls and smearing it over me. it’s not working. i’m still alone, more than ever.
finally i choke out, “daddy, help me.”
you rush in, ripping my skin from me. you put the scales back in the box, pick me up, wash me off, scrub me until i am raw and bleeding. you wrap me in your arms and carry me to a fire. setting me down gently, you pick up the box.
“can we be done with these?” you ask. i nod, wordlessly. as you throw the scales into the fire i gasp, but you are there immediately, wrapping your arms around me.
“you don’t need those.” you say.
my sinful nature lurches toward the stench of the smoke, but you hold me tight.
“i am enough,” you whisper, and i settle into your arms as we watch the scales burn away forever.