Four.

Processing abandonment
Is like walking on
Broken egg shells
That were supposed
To be bulletproof.

1.11.19

Half an hour.

Layers of periwinkle and tangerine sky
Sweep over our cold hair,
And trees flicker by like uncertain sparklers.

Edelweiss and Abba caress our ears;
We steal half an hour of evening-time
To thrust ourselves into nature’s peace.

Silence is sweet, and our thoughts
Are subtle as we lean 

Into the approaching darkness.
In the night,
We are free to be ourselves.

Afternoon’s sun shed light on our 

Shortcomings, but here—
In the car in the dark—
We relax as the moon’s blanket is draped
Over our shivering shoulders.

There is peace in hiding.

There is peace in releasing expectations
With a hissing breath that rolls off 

The open windows into the fading road;
False pretenses disappear

Into the tumbling exhaust.

Half an hour.

Enough time to empty our cups.
Not enough time to fill them back up.

3.19.19

Yesterday’s 6am.

Yesterday’s 6am
Found me cleaning up the mess
I had made before the sun rose
From its primitive grave.

Tendrils of yarn and rest
For the unraveled sweater
Met my tired hands
As yesterday’s 6am
Called others to rise.

I was paralyzed with
Exhaustion,
As I finished my 28 hour
Work and dropped,
Like a stricken sparrow,
Into sleep.

Yesterday’s 6am.
The same sun rose again
Today, and I blink my eyes,
Preparing to face another day.

3.5.19

For a friend.

You sat across the table
From me,
And you gave to me
A sense of friendship.

Your eyes sparkled,
Talking about your familial bonds,
And the commonality in which
You shared
Captured me.

This is where the community began.

From there,
I met the one with perfect English
And sweet serenity
And enthusiasm.

I met the one with wild hair
And wild eyes
And a heart of confusing tenderness.

I met the one with charm and wit,
Fit for a vintage time—
His knack for poetry and rhyme.

I met the freckled face
That seemed to place me
Into the world of acceptance.

I met the girl with sunflower hair
And laughter that fills
An entire room.

I met so many more who impressed
And amused me, with various
Eyes and minds and thoughts;

But it started with you at lunch
That day, and I must say:

Thank you.

12.14.18

There is no explosion.

The nothingness haunts me
Like a screaming firework
That never meets its end.

I wait.
And there is no explosion.

How do I expect a life
To come from ashes
That drift like fallen leaves
Of smoke?

The winds blow where they choose.
I have no choice.

Alone in this paradise
Of lonely paradox,
I am sent scrambling to the safety
Of my personal bed.

Blankets shield my head.

I want peace inside my ecstasies.
I want joy to pervade my homestead.

1.31.19

Pilllow book: one.

The warmth from my cell phone lingers on my fingertips. It is the recent memory from a long-distance friend. Her encouragement and the words of my insecurities replay in my heart as I sit, whiffing the cologne of a visitor, the fresh branches of fir, and the garlic scent of dinner.

A friend in red sits across from me, her eyes scanning a story with disappointment. Disappointment in the story? No. Disappointment in the writer. Sadness, doubt, and a hint of melancholy furrow her brow. It was the tipping point for depression.

The couple in the kitchen laugh and banter. Their sunny personalities spark joy in an otherwise pensive room. Their innocence and workmanship bring peace and spur me into a concoction of feelings: discontentment mixed with hope.

Outside, the crickets chirp faintly. Winter has dulled their cheer. The silence of darkness that settles like a blanket over the world, broken only by that faint chirp, seeps through the open window. The glow of the salt lamp wards off fear.

A half-finished drawing is sprawled on the rug while the half-mussed sofa invites weary souls. Laptops lay opened in crooks of the room, and the dried rosebuds sway gently from the ceiling. The atmosphere is reminiscent of fairyland.

The girl in red leaves to go dancing, hoping to dissolve sadness with healthy pleasure. Dinner is served. A spider visits. The room is filled with laughter, banter, and contented cheer. Somehow, resting here, I am happy amidst longing. I am filled without realized hopes. I am surrounded by warm serenity.

Declaration.

The strength that you
Pretend to have
Faces extinction
At the feet of my Father.

The power rushing
From the blood of
The Lamb withstands
Your folly and vicious ways.

I am nothing in the eyes
Of justice;
I am a daughter in the eyes
Of my King,
Who bought me from
My burning shame
And slavery
With the gentle hands
Of His sovereign Son.

Kingdoms fall at the
Sound of my God’s
Inexplicable voice;
Mountains crumble,
Seas collapse,
And atoms rush
To obey His every command.

He designed our laws
Of the universe,
And subservient are we,
His kingdom’s seed,
Whom

He made free.

With supreme power,
He fell to His knees
To obey His heart—

But,
He was torn apart
By the people He adored;
Even more, He hung in shame
Bearing the pain
I wore around my neck.

It was the price I was meant to pay.

So don’t taunt me
With your cruel fingers,
And don’t tear my eyes
From the love of my life,
The sole purpose for my
Being.

You destroyed the One
Who raised you up,
And selfishly,
You tear me from Him too.

Blasphemy.

You declare blasphemy.

You see—
You know—
He is more than you or me.

You witnessed
With angry depression
As He rose from dismal
Oppression of
Death and darkness
To paint the world
In resurrection
And reveal to His people
The glorious life we may live.

Light.

He gleams like a city on a hill,
Shining beauty from the ashes that
You stamped into his flesh and blood.

Truly,
He is God’s Son.
He is Creator.
He is worthy of every ounce
Of zealous praise
And earnest thanksgiving
And absolute adoration.

He is my only celebration,
The master of all creation,
And I will never believe
Your lies that tell me

Otherwise.

Don’t ask me to bow to your command,
Or your whims of falsehood lies;
I will stamp the dirt
From your bitter mind,
Declaring your minuscule
Existence in comparison
To His absolute glory.

This story does not end
With your victory.
He has crushed you, enemy;

He is everything I need.

And He has gifted me
With eternity.

1.19.19

Come find me.

Don’t contradict my mind
With expectations; you persist
In placing a chain around my neck
And insisting I consist

Of more than my temperament,
Less than my straining creativity.
You tell me that my depth is more
Than you should be handling.

Dive deeper.

See the color inside of me.
I promise there’s a storm
Of glorious serenity
Just waiting to be released.

I want to share my thoughts
And my dangerous sacred feelings;
This swaying branch of life
Begs for more to be seen.

I’m telling of a world
Full of never-ending life
Burning through the death
Of these cheap worldly plights—

My imagination meshes
With eternal blinding truth;
I picture the heaven we were made to see,
And my God teaches me
Our revealing fruit.

One day it will be over.
Life will come beyond this death.
But in the meantime,
I will continue swimming
Through my depth.

Come find me.

1.9.19

Lullaby.

The moon pours like
An iridescent waterfall
Into the pool of my
Hopeful dreams;

Nightfall turns my eyes
To the things of faeries,
And out of the silence,
I find music that is
Deafening.

Purple clouds coerce
These daring sweet thoughts
Of you and your beaming soul—
I feel your arms hold me
In my imagination.

The strange persona
You uphold will one day
Reveal to me with perfect
Clarity your beautiful
Extent of personality.

Perfection in imperfection.
Lilies in valleys.
A glowing city on a charcoal hill.

Soft wool caresses my fingers
As I lay in quiet,
Giving my envisioning thoughts
Over to Abba
And sleep.

1.9.19

Sleepless.

Loss runs its fingers down
The darkness of my soul
Reminding
Me of someone who
Used to be whole.

11.22.18

Corridors of springtime.

Corridors of springtime
Bloom on the outskirts
Of my previously charred
Map—

Tap, tap.
Two steps forward,
And I refuse to dance
In reverse any longer.

The stronger remains
Of my fingertips
Scurry from the darkness
As I retrace my shaky
Steps from the usual
Haunts of shadows
Into the hallways leading
Toward sunlight.

How bright.

I had forgotten what it was like
To hold my head high
With courage in the daylight
And warmth in my veins.

Laughter multiplies
In my chest.
Stains of yesterday
Have passed away.

Behold, all things are new.
Joy bursts like a balloon—
A bright blue balloon—
Carrying me to the clouds
Of effervescent color.

Wonder.

The corridors of springtime
Have not led me astray.

Here, I intend to stay.

1.1.19

December.

December’s chill hugs me close,
An icy blanket wrapped around my form.
My mind is tangled with nostalgia
Among the warm glow enveloping the room.

Ghosts of children haunt the walls—
Memories that are bittersweet.
The sweetness remains in the souls that roam,
But bitterness recognizes their loss.

Christmas idealizes snow and ice
And the birth of an innocent Son
Whose purpose was to die.

Why pretend that December brings cheer?
Here, there are short days and longer nights.
I envy the Decembers of my dreams.

The death of the year reminds me of fears,
And I long for the birth of new life.
Strange.
That life I seek is found in the death
Of an innocent child whose mother
Held him tight.

What joy.
What scandalous joy.

My God gives me life in death,
And the death that brought life
Is celebrated in recognition
Of painful birth that brought great joy.

Pain and joy frolic hand-in-hand.

Thank God that there is no end.
Eternity caresses our heads.

Peace washes over earth, and
Good will flares in the hearts of men.

12.25.18

Stranger.

It is strange
To be told that
A stranger
Is safer
Than the heart of
Someone who knows me
So well.

Even stranger,
Is seeing the sun
Amongst the clouds
Of my mind
Rather than the clouds
Of you
Amongst the sun of
My visions.

I am in the middle
Of emotions and longing
For you.
And for you to leave
These sacred corners
Of my mind.

I am trembling
Along a troublesome bridge,
Avoiding the tearful trauma
Of my tempting mind.

What is mine?
Not my hopes; just my fears.
The fears that keep your face
Near or else the fright will
Yoke me to discomfort.

I will be trapped.
In comfort, I am
Capturing the lingering
Remembrance of you
And the comfort of your
Familiarity
Reminding me that I am me.

How to be free?
Here I flee, to the safety
Of you in my thoughts as I see
Myself ensnared
In the center of
This crossing bridge,
Afraid to move forward
And too mature to
Return.

Trapped in you,
I cannot be free.
But to move on,
I must come to see
That strangers are only strange
Because they are unknown.

And sadly,
You see,
The unknown frightens me.

12.3.18

Home.

Home.

How strange and sweet the word
Appears on my tongue,
Attaching to living people rather than
Places.

Or rather, experiences and souls
That attach themselves to me;
I find familiar dwelling
Among beloved faces.

A golden-lit living room where
Flowers hang and clear voices sing
And arms wrap around me to keep
Warm.

This world swarms with every
Reckless joy and sweet companionship.

A white sofa with familiar hands
Stroking my hair and familiar
Feet pattering on the floor;
The hum of the television.

This world reminds of my childhood,
A nostalgic tradition of my growth.

More memories impress upon me;
The essences of home—

A dimly lit cabin with a comforting
Shoulder to lean upon, and a
Stringed instrument that echoes
Among the walls and bodies
That recline in peace upon the floor.

A mountaintop hike in dense fog,
Drawn with many feet
That have experienced a rollercoaster
Of ups and downs, leading swiftly to
The heart of Jesus.

A cliff overlooking a glittering city
That I once thought to be ugly, but now—
With the haze of cigars and friendship—
Represents the beauty of all of you.

A late-night clattering adventure
Among railroad tracks and fireworks
And every wild thing that roams the
Hearts of the young.

Every song that has been sung,
Every word that has been spoken;
Every embrace that warms my soul,
Every chase that leads to sunrises.

More than a single place,
I find my home attached to a map—
A thousand strings marking the world
That I have grown to love,
Finding their intertwining way to the
Lives of the souls

Who remind me of comfort and safety and

Home.

12.17.18

Heart cry.

Doubts shatter my hope
And the joy I find to sustain
My dusty soul in the storms.

How can a God who controls
The entire universe be contained
To the thin pages of an ancient book?

Give me faith.

I’ve been damned to crucifying
Doubt and discouragement for
Far too long.

And yet, is He contained?
The thin pages of an ancient book
Have stirred hearts to recklessly
Die for Someone unseen.

Souls have crossed mountains and valleys,
Defied powerful dictators and tribal leaders;
Seen miracles swell the seas and part the water,
Watched dying souls gain life in stale
Hospital walls.

The leaves on the trees die every year
And resurrect in the warmth of the sun;
The sky bursts with every color, and the
Rain produces rainbows of exploding promise.

The ground churns with hot lava 

and lifts up our many wavering feet.
The planets careen around one another,

and yet we never collide.

Intricacies and strategies have never
Proven themselves sustained by
Spontaneity;
They must be structured by creativity,
And how can the world’s basis of creativity
Be a negative blank void that ruptured 

into existence?

Unexplainable joy has been derived from
The evilest and bleakest circumstances;
Somehow the light of His hope shines
Brightest in the pitch-blackness.

He is before and within and withstanding all things.
Everything.
Every atom and molecule.
Every ringing laugh and gasping tear.
Every mother’s smile and lover’s embrace.

Despite the cheap advertisement of the world,
And despite the spiked heel of the king of
Darkness that crushes the beauty of humanity,
My God holds the spinning universe into place,

And one day, He will show His face.

We must only have faith.
My God, my Sustainer, my Savior, my only Purpose:

Give me faith.

12.17.18

Togetherness.

Peculiar feelings of irregularity
Consume my thoughts and visions
At home despite the screens.

Apart from souls I’ve grown to love,
I wonder if I worship togetherness
Or a dream that is perfection.

My identity is wrapped too tightly
In the idea of being chosen,
And I cower from loneliness;

Terror that I will lose everything
That I hold dear and the fear
Clutches my mind with cold fingers.

Do I worship togetherness?
And yet my God is three-in-one,
Wrapped up in Father, Spirit, and Son.

It is time to loose these chains;
It is time to release my hold
On the ones I hold so close.

It is time to take my adoration
And turn it into praise of the One
Who has gifted us community.

We were never meant to be alone,
And we were never meant to walk
Along the paths of life without
Companionship.

But we were never meant to
Fill the cup in one another’s hearts
That is reserved for the Creator of
Relationships.

Together with Him,
And together are we.

Perfection will come with heaven.
For now, there is trust.

11.18.18

My friend.

Hiding
Relieves the pain
So that I
Don’t have to relive
Losing you.

I choose darkness now
In the confines of
My room,
Or the early morning
Sunlight alone in the
Library.

Contrary to my desires,
Or my heart’s steady race,
I choose to remain stagnant.
If I see your face,
I feel like I can’t
Breathe.

And I’m sorry, but I must.
I must breathe or I will
Never move on.
My friend,
I must push you away
To live.
To be.

It aches, but I must let you go.
I must be free.

11.27.18

Year’s end.

The year has ticked past
Like the minute-hand on a clock;
One second creates
An eternity of mesmerizing
Life.

A whirlwind of events
Leaves me standing
Quite breathless;
I’m addicted to the commotion
Of time’s swift motion,
And the fight

Of finding myself beneath
These layers of time
And experiences.

People merge together,
Creating a unity of spiritual
Relations that I imagine
Will last, everlasting,
If my God allows.

But,
How to explain the unending
Turmoil of building relationships
That will crumble sometimes
Despite the battle to keep them
Alive?

Yet, I am thankful.

Disappointment trumps
Happiness but
Hope
Crushes lingering fear.

This year, I have faced
My enemy that rains fire
Onto my mind’s plans;

But then, that fire kindled
The embers of hope,
And I am captured
By time’s steady race.

Let me see Your face.
Lead me along the sweet-tasting road
Filled with hope;
But if I must face adversity,
Remind me of eternity.

The shackles of time will not last
Forever;
But nevertheless,
Life will live on.

12.12.18

The wound.

You stabbed me yesterday,
But like a wound and knife,
You did not see the damage,
For I did not bleed until
I pulled away.

I must continue to love you,
And unfortunately, that's not hard,
But to continue to love myself—
To bind up the bleeding wounds—
Is harder than to stay.

9.17.18

Soliloquy: one.

The wind howls gently
Through the crack under our
Front door, but inside
We are warm from the Christmas
Lights and the night’s peaceful
Glow.

So much love fills our comfortable
Space, and I am grateful
For this place that I can call
My own.

One writes a poem under the thicket
Of a blanket, while the other
Laughs softly from the end of the sofa.
Hoping to fill my hands with joy,
I sprinkle color on my fingertips.

My hair is wet.

Outside our little room,
The rain streaks the cement,
And the pent-up anger of the world
Showers the ground with growling cold.

Inside our little room,
The lamplight holds us close,
And we peacefully repose
In the rest of our God.

Here,
The fear has thawed.

12.9.18