you lay still and stretched out
in your backyard,
stars thriving leagues above you.
can you feel it?
the pulsing of the earth,
beneath your hands, your heels?
the feeling of drifting,
anchored firm but drowsily drifting:
this is how it feels to exist.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 9:05 PM UTC
“Confío en Ti.”
The words rip the tastebuds off my tongue,
the skin from the back of my throat,
the bile from the pit of my stomach—
all raked out by the utterance of this phrase
that has never been so hard for me to say.
“Confío en Ti.”
“I trust in You.”
God, I—
I can't say those words aloud.
Not just yet.
It hurts, oh God,
to put my hope solely in You.
But I will write it.
I will write it over and over until
the words roll off my tongue,
until saying them feels like it has never been easier.
“Confío en Ti.”
“Confío en Ti.”
“Confío en Ti.”
I trust You, Lord.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 9:03 PM UTC
i slice my heart with strokes of pen;
blood flows as ink onto the page.
when i share my writings with my friends
they hold my life force in their hands.
now
words only sputter and spurt;
suddenly it hurts to hurt.
writing exhausts and reading consumes
over my head numbness looms.
words ought to follow each place i go
yet now i find them falling short.
i'm clinging to Your rays of light
fighting paralysis, reaching for Sight.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 9:01 PM UTC
what happened to you
that made you change?
you were a different person
when I knew you.
now your values are deeper than your veins
you hug people less but now you mean it.
your confidence itself
has morphed into something
less like a sun-bright dress
and more like an adamantine
gem,
a pendent you wear close to you
under layers and layers and jackets and sweaters.
do you still respond to the same name?
the creature you are now
is surely a different being
than the one you were before.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
I've begun to summon
a voice of my own
but it still falls short
when I need it the most.
I still have so much left to learn and yet
it just feels like I should
already know all of it.
I have only just begun
to dig my own place
in confidence and wonder and transparent faith.
but every time I look up it seems
I'm always losing my grip on more than I keep.
I am not hopeless, but
a little out-of-world, I spose.
it's been a while since I've had
a glimpse of where my path goes.
(stay by my side, Lord,
lend me Your hand.
together we'll walk
upon the dry land.)
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
i am not the lost sheep, for You know exactly where i am. but i am a stupid one.
i know i shouldn’t lag behind the flock or wander over to the edge of the cliff repeatedly to check how far we’ve come, but i do anyway.
i’m weak and my wool falls into my eyes so i can hardly see You, but i make only half-hearted efforts to swipe it away.
Father, i am not worthy of Your love in any way. but You give my hooves strength to keep following You.
thank You, Jesus. please, keep me close to You. I will wipe this wool from my eyes and keep stumbling after You, no matter how much it costs.
for You will be my strength and my song and my salvation.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
I've fallen to mapping
the deepest parts of my forehead
again. these days it feels like
I'm climbing the jungle gym of my mind,
clearing away cobwebs and
emptying
dust-covered boxes into my lap,
searching yellowed scrolls and broken crates
for diamonds.
it's not that I feel far from
the present, just as if
I'm swimming through it,
my head the only part of me
above the water.
it's been a little while but
I am still only climbing,
praying, and
scribbling words
on a familiar page.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC
I think I would like to be a hummingbird,
flitting around on my own,
pausing on a branch for several seconds
to catch my breath
before moving on.
as it is,
I am constantly stopping and starting
simultaneously,
starting to learn and then
stopping to think.
perhaps, in a way,
I am already
a hummingbird.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC