[who am I?]
                                                             ­      Hardworking and determined,
                                                     ­          Statistics on a spreadsheet—
                                         That is all I am. 


                                                I have to be reminded that
                               I am not simply my resumé--
            I am full of love and passion,
Overflowing with the Holy Spirit.

My misdirected goals are only fuel for
         The accomplishments He has already
                   Ordained before my first screeching.
                                       --There is always time to pivot.

                                                      A daughter of God,
                                                            That­ is all I am.

There is nothing keeping me here—
Paper aeroplanes encircle my head,
Boarding my thoughts to faraway places,
And I pace faster and faster, seeking purpose
In the dull trees without the love of life—
Even the greenery wilts under the pressure
Of the city—all we can do is keep unremittingly
Busy, words zero degrees, and shoulders cold.
A smile is only a pad of butter, sweet and sickly,
Disguising the anxious want of another lost soul.
I spin in place, waiting for the sky to change,
And give peace under the umberous dark,
But even in the dredges of midnight, 

The sky is a sluggish fog of pollution,
And my lungs shudder from the thought
Of the poison not only inhaled, but filling our
Young minds, brimming with manipulated
Falsity—again the aeroplanes, they want
To take me away, despite the knowledge
That nowhere is free of its problems. 

There is nothing keeping me here,
But sometimes clarity comes
from staying still.

Gratified storm clouds,
Rain that never stops,
Slowing its downpour—
Did all of those tears
Travel down the drains,
Through the aquaducts,
To the Earth’s core?

Has that become the
Epicenter of our world:
The Sky's Sorrow?

Unending frustration
Over the workings
Of a brain I did not
Design—and knowledge
That its shortcomings
Revolve around a reason,
One that is perfect,
And not the vacillating
Mess I condemn of it.
Why must I want to be
Anyone but the person
Under these meninges? 

I am not who think I am,
But who is that to

Begin with?

His face was stitched together
With Grief--a Frankenstein’s
Monster searching for his grave.
But he held it together because
Of the angel eyes that looked
Up at him as if she saw the
Tired lines and blood leaking
From his torn sutures, and
Only smiled, hugging him, and
Never mentioning the pain she
Was trying to heal with love.

He cries with us

Even when He

Knows our tears

Are unnecessary.

Jesus Wept.

And I only Sat,

Staring. Staring.
Staring.

I watch my fingers curl up
As if they do not know
How to lay flat, relaxed.
I am a strung bow,
Pulled back and taut,
Wincing at the arrow
I constantly hold—
When can I let go? 

When will my stare
Stop swerving from
The target? Nothing
Less than the bullseye
Will do, but exhaustion
Tears at me, causing
My hands to warble
Farther and farther
From what I intend

To reach--the goal
I cannot see myself
Achieving anymore.

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.

A shipping container
Filled with traffic cones
and stifled murmurs;
How long would they
Have to wait
to be put on a field,
And play a role
in the game they didn't
know the rules of?

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.