Sia Harms

Sia Harms Feb 4

It’s my birthday today.
The celebration of my life—
But I only feel the weight
Of all I have yet to turn
It into.
Merely a bag of yarn and
Crafts supplies I swear
I will get back to, but I
Only layer ***** sweaters
Ontop, lying to myself.
The socks
Grow more and more
Mismatched, my eyes
Bleary as I feed my needle
Through the stitches I
Can't see anymore.
Another
Finger counted off on my
Hand, but they start to
Shake more with each one,
The years blurring together.
Did I drop
The thread eons ago? Will I
Have to unravel everything
I thought I was building,
Hoping it was the purpose
Of my life?

Sia Harms Feb 4

Cardboard Cutout

I do not feel alive.
I feel like a cardboard
Cutout that kids push
Their heads through,
Smiling brightly as
Their parents snap
A photo.

Sia Harms Feb 4

The Line of Sin

Do we see the line
Of purity, & tiptoe
As close to it as
Possible, smiling
As we taunt it,
Reaching over to
Touch the ground
Without our feet
Stepping over,
Teetering on the
Edge of what’s
Considered sin?

By walking in
Christ, we see the
Line, and walk the
Other way--as far
& as long as we can.

Sia Harms Feb 4

l o s t E m p a t h y

The reminders

             Slunk away

When I was no longer

         S  t ruggling--

For I did not

              Understand

How they could not

         R  e form

Like I did--

Sometimes when we get better, we forget how the depths felt. It's so important, more even, to understand other's perspectives.
I hate when I forget that.

Sia Harms Feb 4

My Faith is a Sword

My faith is a sword,
Edged with love,
Weighted by grace,
Balanced by the
Sacrifice of Jesus.

Sia Harms Feb 3

Tear-Stained Paper

The mailbox was buckled
From so many unread words
Being forced through its tired
Opening.

Voices guffawed at the
Blaring junk papers that
Lined it, scrunched with the
Residue of dusty carlessness.

How many letters had simply
Been thrown in the dustbin?

How many envelopes were
Something more than stark
Black words on unfeeling
Paper?

The mailbox knew it was
Cruel, but it missed the
Times of war.

It missed the tear-stained
Paper and the words that
actually
meant
something.

Sia Harms Feb 1

progress--

progress only feels like
the past i am giving
up on