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.

My heart is so deep
In Jesus
That anyone searching
For me,
Must find Him.

It is not for me
To don a white
Powdered wig
And smash a
Wooden gavel.

Who am I to
Wear the robes
Of justice?

It is in God’s
Hands--

It always

has been.

A fraying string, sagging down,
A bridge fallen into a chasm—
My head heavy on its stem,
Joints all dislocated—
A pile of mismatched items,
Their use, coalition, unclear
To my strained eyes—
Gaze lifted beyond understanding,
The silken Spirit reached down,
Using the useless parts
For His enduring plan.

Sometimes I feel
God’s hand
Around my heart,
knowing
He the only reason
It continues
beating.
Every pulse that
Shudders through me,
Is the pressure of
His love,
His hand pumping
my blood
With His enduring
plan for me.

My fingers began to ache
As they waved—
As if the bones dislocated
From the enthusiasm.

My smile suddenly felt
Small and inconsequential,
Forced as it stretched
My dry skin.

I was swaying back & forth,
Drained by all of this
Social interaction.

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.

I navigate with my own GPS,
Following the intuition that
Only leads me off of cliffs
And into trenches—Lord,
Will You take the wheel?
My foot is cramping on the
Pedal, my eyes are dozing,
And a group of Sagging
Pants smashed through my
Dashboard, gun in hand,
As I drove through an area
That I thought was good—
Take the wheel, Lord,
You see the flaws in my
Judgement--& I see that
There are no shortcuts
To Your plan.

The words reached out and
Gripped me.
They held the collar
Of my shirt.
But they were not harsh.
They did not
Push me into the wall.
They simply
Held me so I would not
Turn my head
When they proclaimed
“I Love You.”

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?

The fragility of my heart
Was pressed into a thinly
Chained locket, grown
Pale and tarnished
In the hands
Of all those who 

Thought they knew me.

They tried to pry me open,
Breaking their nails in
The attempt to
Find the one thing
That kept their words
From hurting me.

But if they opened the
Heart-shaped cavity, they

Would find only the
Emptiness that reminded
Me of the world’s promises
And their futility.

A necklace of the World
Could not hold the Love
God had threaded into
My heart for eternity.

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 prayed as I tied the laces together,
Bowing my head over the red converse.
They were not shoes anymore, in my mind.
Only a promise.

A testament that no hand other than Gods’
Could untie the knot chucked high in the trees.

They hung dismally, striving for the ground,
Toward earthly things.

The plan He knitted in the womb, His providence,
Lay over the thread, cinching it together and
Aloft towards the heavens, until it was time
For Him to Untie me.

She said the walls always
Seemed to march towards her,
Closing in, squeezing, until she
Couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes pressed shut, and her
Hands didn’t know what to do with
Themselves. I tried to comfort her,
But it was useless.

It seems to me that no matter how
Small a space is, God fills the air and
The very walls, living in the fears we
Perceive all around.

My touch was cold on her stressed skin,
But God’s is gentle, everlasting, like
Laundry fresh from the dryer, warm
And comforting.

Commitment.
It was a suitcase,
by the door.

Alligator skin
& a sqeaky wheel.

How many
times

Have I
watched it

Disappear?

The moment was negligible;
It was a sparse bridge
Of minutes, simply hanging
In the air. I could have sat
And stared at the wall.
I could have sighed
And pulled out my phone.
But a niggling, patient voice
Broke into my thoughts,
And weighed heavily
Upon my neck,
Until my head bowed
And my hair fell over my ears,
Turning a couple lost minutes
Into a private conversation
With God.

We must know God
To reflect Him.
Or else we will accept
The warped circus
Mirrors’ interpretation.

A screeching train
reminiscent of an owl
And a screaming child
strands of experiences
All tangled together

My patience was a yellow, rusted truck
Running low on fuel and puffing a cloud
Of smoke behind it as it rattled down
The road.

My frustration was the click click click
Of my blinker, and the flashing light
Reminding me to change my oil.

I drove circles around this town,
Following a route I had mapped out
In my head--but I failed to see how
It only enforced the anxiety of
My heart, mirrored in the clattering

Of my truck’s engine.

I fell behind in my navigating,
Missing lights as ambulances rushed
Past, disrupting the rigid routine
I liked because of its familiarity.

One day, as I reached for the handle
Of the failing trajectory of my life, yellow
Yet sad in the morning light, a man
Brighter than any paint color, walked
Up to me and extended his hand.

“This is not the plan I have for you.”
He said. “Come to me, for I will
Give you rest.”

It was too good to be true—
How could I trust a man promising
The world?

Yet, that is where I was wrong.
He was not offering the world,
But eternal life and love in the
Wholeness of His image.

I let my arm drop to my side,
Away from the smoking lump
Of my car, and felt the earnestness
Of His expression.

Forgetting the yellow frame beside me,
I took His hand, and began to walk,
The swaying of the leaves suddenly
Peaceful, and the rushing of the cars
Humming gracefully.

Everything that was a source of anxiety,
Faded into the background, and I felt only
The point of contact between me
And my Savior.