A blue face and lidded eyes,
A bright smile and a skip
To a step, chestnut hair
And pouting lips--I sit
Minding my own business,
******* watching those
Flicker through life
Around me—
Would there be a day,
When I would merely
Look into unfamiliar
Eyes, and see words?
Or know the struggles
That girl in bell-jeans
Scrawls in her journal?
I stay sitting, not knowing
How I love so many people,
Not knowing how I could
Possibly add one more—
Lord, who do you want
In my circle?

I would sit with the stubbornness of a child
Dragging down my face, a question on my lips,
“Who was Jesus? How did he save us?”

I only received scoffs in return,
Disbelief as busy adults said “What did he do?
Be serious.”
They never understood that I was.

Unaware of His presence and His love,
I curled into myself, wondering why I always
Failed at satisfying the standard I had
Carefully constructed in my head—
It turned out, I was only waiting
For God's perfect timing.

It was slow--a sluggish trial
Of Him holding out his hand, and mine
Hovering tentatively, not fully convinced.
But He spoke through those around me,
He filled the emptiness I had walked around with
Like a book with blank pages, chapters filled in
At the binding. He gave me a community,
Something that was completely unfamiliar
And alien considering the isolation I was so
Accustomed with. Gradually, I turned to face Him.
I talked to Him under rain-soaked trees and rooms
Infused with the fear of darkness, and He offered
The resolute peace of His love and guidance—

I will never forget the day of extended worship,
One voice flowing through the music, settling
Itself in my heart as I stood alcoved in a hallway,
A borrowed guitar clutched close & eyes full of tears
I was suddenly becoming unafraid of. That anxiety,
That defining phobia of never being enough,
He began to heal as I took His hand and let Him
Give me the strength to persevere through
Something
 I didn’t believe myself capable of.

In that moment, leading up to it, and even now,
When I know there is so much left for Him
To teach me, I feel the unburdening weight
Of his purpose for me—His sovereignty
Over the life I tried to control, year
After year, with my own understanding.

I will never know everything, but I finally

Comprehend what Jesus did for me--
And that knowledge continues
To motivate everything I am,
A daughter of God, into pursuing
An eternal relationship with Him,
Unhindered by my self-righteousness
And fear of failing to fulfill his plan.

Jesus truly is Everything.

I had lost my voice—

Was it from screaming,

Or staying silent?

Why do we close our eyes
During prayer?


Is it to feel the solitary
Presence of Jesus,
Or only to distance ourselves
From the judging eyes
We self-consciously perceive
And create comparisons 

Based on, because the World
Consistently draws our attention
And distracts from the only
Opinion that matters? 


The Enemy sure does love
the eyes of others.

An unknown sadness,
A blue fog settling
Over my surroundings,
No apparent reason—
Only the thought
That, perhaps, someone
Had no one to feel
The ache of their absence.

The arrogance of our consciousness,
The unreliable narrator inside
All of us—

We are blinded by dainty eye masks
Of half-truths & winding thoughts:
How to get around it--

I mute my snaking mind
And ask for truth,
To truly see,
Jesus.

There are hands against my temples,
Pressing, squeezing, building tension
Like a band slowly constricting
Around my head, over my eyelids.
I squint and continue my day,
Knowing my knuckles won’t be able

To massage the aching away--
Even as I force myself to focus
And ignore the whiplash of a knife
Slashing through my mind—
I am only as present as the willpower
I possess, despite my pain.

“I never meant to be the villain in your story."

  I could say it as much as I liked.

It would still

Never fix

Anything.

Is it wrong to feel sorry
About a circumstance
And a split decision,
Yet not regret it
In the slightest?
I could still see
The slump in his eyes,
The blue tinge
Creeping over his
Expression, trying
To hide it as
He smiled through
The rest of the night.
I will always feel bad
For being the cause
of that—and I’m not sure
If it makes it harder
Or only more reassuring,
Feeling this resolute
Peace that it was Right,
That it had to happen.

She spoke as if she wasn’t sure
If the words formed by her lips
Were really hers—only uncertainties,
Fairies flitting convoluted ideas
Through her mind’s eye.
Was it too much to say?
Did she truly want to give all
The pieces of herself away? 

It was too much. . .
They would not understand. . .
Dark lashes framing tired eyes,
Life was harder than she thought.
What if she wasn’t the unwavering light
She was supposed to be?
So many insecurities,
Yet none so powerful
As the red-limned thought
That Jesus would not know her,
And she would fall into the pits--
Welcome only to darkness
And the cold, cold smiles
Of the Enemies who succeeded.

I said sorry in my mind.

I reconstructed all of it--
Our past conversations,
The exchange made
Merely minutes ago—
I meant none of it,
What I really meant was. . .
. . .I know . . . Because. . .

Analogging a new answer
In my head, convincing myself
That I had said it all along—
Why do you still act
As if I did wrong? 


Or, perhaps, you brushed it off.
It was not strange to you.
It did not even stick out--
Because you couldn’t see 

All the things I could have said
And wished that I had.

I agonize over the words
That never leave my mouth,
Planning the past meticulously
Until it numbs the weight
That hangs over my chest
From the fumbled encounter
I remember so vividly.

I said sorry in my head,
Were my lips saying
Something different?
I said sorry in my mind.
But even then,
nothing is right,
nor organized,
did I even say sorry?
Or was it a fractured thought,
Underneath the pile,
Grown so high,
Of admonitions and guilt,
Screaming, yet never
Reaching the light?

The skyline was carefully cut paper,
Notebook lines ruling the windows,
Writing out the lives of figures
In apartments of faded graphite

And bright red pen; the letters
Are only their dancing forms,
Backlit by a tired orange glow--
Other characters blacked out,
With a scribbled X, squares
Of dormant life, flickering.
Is it another person moving in?
Or only someone who finds
Comfort in the darkness of night,
Staring at the leaking ceiling,
Born from tear stains
On rough-handled paper
And the hope that their words
Will somehow subdue the pains
From trying to decipher
this city

i lived in somnambulism,
Going through the motions,
Finding myself curled
ontop of the refrigerator,
Working surrounded
by walls of grey tears,
Seeing faces only as
muffled blurs of color,
Pinching my arm,
Banging on doors,
none of which worked.
I was awake only in my fear
of living the rest of my life
Submerged in the bleary
Tape of a damaged
camera roll.

I want. . .
. . .i can't
What is the disconnect?
how did i. . .
. . .get here
In this position?