Disheveled.

I want to show up to you disheveled.

I want to throw open my mud and blood stained hands to you
as I collapse at your feet
in one utter and completely
graceless movement
shouting
"Here is all I have for you!
Do you really still want me?"

I want my tattered clothes, and matted hair
to lay all my addictions bare
To prove how, left to myself, I've completely come undone
I've lost myself inside of substances and stories, people and things
And now
Every time you try to tell me who I am
I can't remember how to hear you

I want the sweat, pouring down my face,
To prove the frustration of what I couldn't bring myself to say
That I've used and abused all that's been given to me
Then hated it for being mine
Then wanted what wasn't,
Then stole it to make it mine,
And hated it just the same
And I'm so tired of doing this every single day
But truth be told
I'm not so sure
There's any other way

I want my bruises to tell of my victories,
But my scars of my defeats
Those seemingly permanent failings
That I have changed into my name
Because those are the ones that I need so desperately redeemed
And if you are who you say you are
You said you'd clean them up for me

I want to bring to you my worst
Because I long to take you at your word
When you say the weak and wounded, poor and weary, sick and sore
Are those who are most welcome, most familiar with your door

And if that's true then I will run
With everything I have to you
It isn't much, my strength is gone, so limping will just have to do
But
First I need to know if what you're telling me is true.
Because try as I might, I just can't see
How Perfection
Could find anything that's lovely
In everything that's me

So please, I only ask one thing
And if you'll answer, then I'll know you can:
Will you just let me find my way to you
Exactly as I am?

For I want to show up to you disheveled
I want to give you my defeat
So that you may even louder
Shout your victory
In me.

- Jamie Finch