The sloppiest poem,
A few scant words,
Splotchy ink and
Crumpled paper—
It now lays flat
Behind glass,
Pored over
By scholars
And plastered
On tall windows,
Does it have value?
—Who is qualified to
Judge what is ‘good?’

All we’re living for. . .
With time, does that
Statement degrade?
Do we tweak it, here 

And there, justifying
The smallest changes?
Like an engine, pulled
Apart, piece by piece,
And re-assembled with
Shiny, new parts that
Have never been tested,
Do we remember the
Original, or have we
Burned the blueprints?
“I choose Jesus.” He
Thinks that the cross
Below his collarbone
Is enough, that it saves
All of the choices he
Never brings to God--
Is it weighing on him?
He uses scripture as a
Means to his own end,
But Jesus knows his
Heart, and He does not
Want a necklace--He
Wants well-intentioned
Thoughts & choked
Words that he cannot
Speak aloud to anyone
Else—He wants him
To see that his back is
Turned, that his hand is
******, & that he faints
To ask what his true
Motivations are. A
Cross necklace does
Not disguise a failing
Heart--and God only
Asks what it is he's
Living & fighting for?

A totalitarian mindset—
A fountain full of coins,
Weeping and tarnished. 

There was acid in the water,
Flowing over the glittering

Gold metal, ridding it
Of its brilliant color—
Why do we place all
Of our wishes on one coin
In a singular fountain?

I am a rug holder,
rolling out lavish
Red carpets
for those who
Walk through
my life. And
I am a placeholder,
lying on the wood
As spiky heels
and mud-caked

Boots, trod over
me, leaving streaks
In my bristles,
and flattening
All the chances I had.
i am a doormat,
Too worn, too *****;
i was tossed out back
To wait for the big
green trucks to come
And take me, the
burden, far, far away.

Raining questions and

An umbrella of answers--

They roll and drip

Down the sloped sides,

Reaching one conclusion

As they are absorbed

Into the ground.

Jesus Christ does not

Dispel the questions;

He encourages them

And answers in gentle

Tones, unaltered by the

Torrential downpours.