Every Last Drop

The Outcast

Sideways glances.

Their hatred makes me frantic.

Won't look me in the eye.

Dead silence at my jokes.

Tensing at their well-timed sighs.

I pass by like smoke,

just a whisp nobody really knows.

Only God has seen the book I closed,

because I refuse to be read by them.

On this earth I've had trouble.

I taste dirt when I stumble.

But my song in the night is this:

If my God sees,

if He rescues the lost sheep,

I can breathe through the bleed.

Through Him I'm still standing.

Never ever abandoning.

And even when I collapse,

He takes me far past

the limits of my frailty

with gentle hands carrying me.

So let them snicker and sneer

and act like I was never here.

Suddenly, it's fine by me.

Stinging less as I seek

the only approval I need

with bowed head and bended knee.