If I am made in his own image

Then he knows me.

He designed every part of me.

From the brown squiggly lines on my hands

To the depths of my soul.

He knows me.

He knows the hurt that is hidden behind a forced laugh when I am amongst company.

He heard all of my screams that are muffled into my pillows at night.

He knows how much strength it takes for me to say “I am happy”.

He knows how abandoned I feel even when I am standing in a crowded room.

I am made in his own image.

I cannot hide, for I am his copy.

He asked me “child why do you dwell in a place of unhappiness”?

We both know the root of my unhappiness that I try to cover up so well.

I smooth over insecurities like wrinkles in a sundress.

I feel them bubbling up in the cauldron of my stomach.

I feel them clawing at my throat whenever I began to speak.

“CHILD WHY DO YOU DWELL IN A PLACE OF UNHAPPINESS”?!

When I first heard that question, it approached me in the form of whisper.

Now it is so loud that it bellows throughout bones.

My soul shakes whenever I attempt to answer.

I cannot lie, for I am made in his own image.

He knows me.