Stop thinking
about the phrasing—
How do you see it?
There is a reason
That lamppost looks 

Like an ‘E’,
A reason that

There is a woman
in the wall—
Do not pass off
These imaginings.
—Isn’t it beautiful
To notice something
no one sees?
And now,
Your description,
can be the light
Shining
On so many faces,
and Waking up
their dormant
Imaginations

When I think of a field,
Covered in dew,
Blanketed by night
And a smattering of stars,
I think of you--
Lying outstretched
In a copse of grass
Beside me,
Pouring out our hearts
To our lord and savior,
Jesus.

A somber corner--
It’s too dark to see
My form huddled there.
I sat alone at lunch,
Waiting, side-eyeing
The lonely souls on
Benches around me.
Was I truly surprised,
When none of them
Approached me?

Somehow, the air
Grew less dense, &
My words quivered
Less, when I trusted
That, perhaps, the
Downcast eyes and
Gangly frames, full
Of feigned belonging
And misguided hopes,
Only needed a voice
To come and ask a
Genuine question of:
“Do you know your
Savior's love?”
“Do you see a face
In the stars?”

“What do you think of
When you zone out at
The wall, and your gaze
Glasses over?”
Nobody asked me
Anything other than
Silly, scandalous remarks--
But I learned not to respond
And seek out those who were
Willing to sit on tin roofs &
Contemplate the reasons
For moral midnight suns,
And Jesus' love, instead.

The weight of generations
Stuttered his steps--
Young legs, agile mind,
An intimidation
To those new to him.
But in small moments
of deeply anchored words
and acts of casual kindness,
The teddy bear of his heart
Was shown underneath.
His hands fidgeted with a knife
Constantly, a butterfly
Flittering through his fingers--
was that the speed of his thoughts?
What did he think, when he wandered
Through creeks of God’s creation?
He kept his hair long, as if afraid
To release the past,
But he clearly showcased
The Lord’s word on his back, deaf
To the voices that rebuked him.
Fluent in rolling jests, but also
Drawing wisdom as if from the earth
I thought he was talking to me. . .
One time. . . but I can never seem
To look people in the eyes.
Who is he, Lord?
I can only see
People as half alive
Without Your guidance.

I am Loved,
a truth that sometimes hurts,
I am Scared
something I loathe to admit
And I am Yours,
a fact that gives me strength
To say all these things

Marshmallow ice sifting through air,
sorrowful caws splitting it,
Like coal sinking in water--
The sky is white satin,
And these walls feel insubstantial,
Like I might pass right through
If I decided to lean on them