The Broken Record

You carry the fragmented disc all day
The demeaning words burned onto them
The cruel comments of a so-called friend
Glued to the inside of your palm

You hide it behind your back
As you joke about your day with Mum
You head up to your room, the mask dropped
You close the door tightly and sit down

You put the CD on to play
A screeching sound plays, piercing your soul like a knife
Then the vocal starts
The hateful lyrics shock you like a slap to your face
Like a finger jabbing into your stomach
The clanging tones repeat in an endless cycle

There you sit, tears in your eyes
As the words hit again and again
Until they are imprinted in your mind
And still crying, you sing along

No matter what the world says about you, no matter how you feel. God values you and He is thinking of you.
“How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!” Psalm 139:17 (NIV)

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