I saw god today.
Sitting in the alleyway,
Head hung low on the subway.

I saw him wordlessly crying,
As all the world went flying,
Dying by.

I saw him homeless and asking for change on 54th
I saw the streetlight illuminate his graying, ragged beard.

I heard his name yelled--
Out of fear.

I didn't see God
In the white picket fences,
In the pristine churches with cushioned benches.

I didn't see Him
At fish fries,
Or in ostentatious Osteen's obnoxious cries.

I saw god kneeling on the splintered pews;
I saw him fleeing with the Jews.

I saw him in the south,
With the poor,
Lying naked on the floor.

I saw god and didn't recognize him.

For he was kind
And accepting,
With eyes that saw,
But were blind.

I saw him wash the feet of sinners.
I saw him cry and pray at dinner.

I saw god today,
And we talked,
Embarking on a casual foray--

he asked me to tell him my misgivings,
And my doubts about faithful living.

I did.

"god, there is so much hypocrisy in this world,
And often, in your name it's unfurled.

You weigh down the oppressed,
And lift up the oppressor.

Christians shame their daughters for abortion,
They cry murderer and throw your words at her.
They do not help.
They do not heal.

Christians turn away those who would seek refuge.
They forget that you were Prince of an exiled people.

I am told that if I do not accept you,
I will go to Hell,
And you know this to be true.

Or worse,
A better man than me might go to Hell.
Because he calls you Allah,
Or Buddha,
And no matter the good he might do;

Still he is doomed."

god heard me,
And his tears fell--
Free.

he paused a moment,
And then responded,

"My child,
Can you not see?
Here I am before you,
And look how my 'disciples' turn away from me."

he said that word with bitterness and disdain,
I'd like to note.
It dripped off his tongue,
Even as blood fell from his wrists, legs, and side.

he carried on:

"Look how many are afraid of me,
How many reject me--
Because they don't want to see.

Look how many seek their own gain.
See how many look away from my pain.

Still, on Sunday
They'll come out and sing--
Cacophonous droning,
Wailing and moaning.

They do not worship me.

You see me here before you.
I am not their God.

Their God is one of self-advocacy,
Of Selfishness--
Of sublime, self-serving servitude.

I am Selflessness.
I am Poverty.
I am Outcast.
I am Brokenness.

I know your concerns.
I know you spend long nights questioning your faith.
Questioning others' faith.

Blesséd are you,
My son.

Blesséd are all my children,
Who seek to serve those who do not know my name.
They are my children still;
And still others of my followers have strayed farther for fame.
Blesséd are they, too,
That they might know me--
And you.

You come here and speak your truth,
And I thank you."

god stood up,
Humbly bowed his head,
Ever subservient,
And walked away.

I sat in silence,
Contemplating our verbal parlance.

Then I too stood up,
Walked away.

I saw him sitting outside,
In his hands,
An empty styrofoam cup.

I saw god today.

And as I walked away,
I saw one man stop, give him a couple quarters, and a nervous, friendly smile.

I saw another walk past, dressed in her Sunday best, averting her gaze, using her body to block her child's line of sight.

I saw god today.


Did you?

For ****'s sake.

How did we end up here again?

The soothing, annoying word flickers on my blue-back lit screen and I am ****** back to the tumultuous moment when once upon a time it yelled bipolar.

And here we go again.

My thoughts flick, flit, floss between teeth made for biting and real meat. They need plaque, collection, to grow and accumulate mass to progress. But there my flicking thoughts go, flossing.

I've always struggled focusing, but I just got excitable, got manic, and it would solve everything. Mania was my monster, my red bull, and now that its sated and off to Wonderland...

I'm left here, face to face, with a twitchy white rabbit wondering why I would ever think to use my pretty little head when its such a good projectile into the sky.

I had always wondered, in those whispering nights, when my hands couldn't stop moving and my head wouldn't shut up, if something was wrong. But it was silly, I had two already, full of worry then full of poles. Couldn't be another, could it?

Of course, a Grace of Wonderland always knows best, and here we are. Another bottle to drink to keep me sane.

I wonder if my fingers will thank the capsules when I might stop biting them? Or my toes? Is this why my toes always twitch and dance, why they stand center-stage in so many of my mild fantasies? After all these years, the divas that my lower digits have become may not appreciate losing their star titles.

I just want to be fine. I want to figure out how to move beyond all the strange misfires in my head. How did I survive so long without a notice? Inflates my ego to know I should have been caught by now.

Guess just like the White Rabbit, despite my widgets and worries, no one can stop me from running when I'm madly, absolutely, refusing to be late.

Graces only knows to fight with fire and fists. Tis the state of my Wonderland, and perhaps now things will only get better.

There's no one-size-fits-all for love.
No magic recipe,
Or secret key to success.

Every relationship is unique,
And while they may
(forever and always)
Rely on some of the same clichés,

It doesn't make them any less special.

I love striking that perfect balance,
Of beautiful chemistry.

Some of our traits might implode other couples,
Just as some of theirs could implode ours.

And that's okay.
It's beautiful, really.

The human spirit changes so much from person to person,
And I love the differences we all share.

We've found our recipe, I think.
And I am glad for that.
Because I love to be able to call you mine,
And I have plans to do so for all time.

Because at the end of the day,
No other person makes me feel this way--
Not quite so happy, quite so grounded, quite so secure.

Nobody else makes me laugh the same way,
Or challenges me the same way.

And these same traits,
In any other proportions,
I'm sure would be a disaster.

But with you--

With you they're perfect.
We're perfect

Comfort in the promise
Of no promises at all
Knowing your warmth may be fleeting
I await the cold
For the fool hopes for the swearing of always
Wrapped in lavender cloth
But the wise await for the winter that no shelter can withstand.
I ran to you knowing your feet had the ability to run in opposition
So I approached you and waited for your feet to move

And so they did.

The winter bird wrecked my home and frosted my woven flowers.
And now I stand pale and alone
As the wiser.

What they don't tell you is
it's impossible to be comfortable with yourself when you're a teenager
you're growing and changing and the world
just keeps moving faster around you and
whenever you ask it to slow down it goes
faster

What they don't tell you is
it's okay to want to fix yourself
being broken isn't a pre-req for being cool
or creative
or cared for
those songs comparing you to hurricanes
won't always be right

What they don't tell you is
it's harder to survive some days than others
Even if you don't need pills
or a therapist
or rehab
living can get too hard no matter what
and it's okay to not be okay

What they don't tell you is
its more than just easy to wake up some days
Even if you need a shrink
or meds
or to go cold turkey
and you're never gonna stop yourself from counting seconds
but instead of a countdown clock
just make them matter

In the bottom of her drink,
she found the undeniable truth,
that she was right to feel and think,
that she wasted most of her youth.
Looking back on those late nights,
there was real purity between both eyes,
that shone brighter than all the lights,
and held more beauty than a sunrise.

With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
it's hard to always stay on course,
every word can set you reeling,
regardless of it's force.
Melting dilutes the flavor,
and it's potential to set you free,
with each sip you try to savor,
the things that can never be.
With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
no it's not meant for the weaklings.

In the shadows of a smoke filled room,
she prays to whoever listens for one more chance,
it would still be fated to be met with doom,
that's just always due to circumstance.
The glass is not half empty,
and it sure as hell isn't half full,
it's contents spilt on the floor for all to see,
and her grasp neither pushed nor pulled.

With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
it's hard to always stay on course,
and each sip meant to be healing
is dampened and ruined by remorse.
The straw will get you more drunk,
but it's not half as satisfying,
that ship sailed until it sunk,
so it was never even worth trying.
With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
it was shown the potential hit it's ceiling.

So down your last glass, and say your last word,
'cause time goes by too fast, your confessions won't be heard.

"Will you remember me?"
she asks me so fondly,
"lately I've been forgetting,
but you're just so **** haunting."