Dancing with the Scars

You waltzed with cancer many years
and watched it claim your mate.
The blackness of your sorrow draped the stars.
And though the drape has lifted
and the nights are beautiful,
you're still grieving 'cause you're dancing with the scars.

You tangoed with your boss at work
and he showed you the door.
Your pride's been pummeled and you're seeing stars.
Though you've reason to hold up your head,
your posture finds you bent.
Understandably! You're dancing with the scars.

You cha-cha-ed with a toxic church
and fell flat on your face
convinced that grace is more apt found in bars.
What tripped you up was painful
and it's so hard to forgive.
After all, you still are dancing with the scars.

You polkaed with a treasured friend
with whom you'd trust your life,
but now it seems their friendship was a farce.
Betrayal is a robber.
It will steal your joy and more.
In your poverty, you're dancing with the scars.

Like dancing on that TV show,
the judges can be cruel.
Your critics act as though you came from Mars.
If God would only show up
and remind you you're okay.

But you limp along alone dancing with scars.
Still one day He'll tap your shoulder
and request "May I cut in?
May I have this dance? I love you as you are.
I will lead. You just need follow.
Leave the footsteps up to me
as together we will dance in spite of scars."