All we’re living for. . .
With time, does that
Statement degrade?
Do we tweak it, here 

And there, justifying
The smallest changes?
Like an engine, pulled
Apart, piece by piece,
And re-assembled with
Shiny, new parts that
Have never been tested,
Do we remember the
Original, or have we
Burned the blueprints?
“I choose Jesus.” He
Thinks that the cross
Below his collarbone
Is enough, that it saves
All of the choices he
Never brings to God--
Is it weighing on him?
He uses scripture as a
Means to his own end,
But Jesus knows his
Heart, and He does not
Want a necklace--He
Wants well-intentioned
Thoughts & choked
Words that he cannot
Speak aloud to anyone
Else—He wants him
To see that his back is
Turned, that his hand is
******, & that he faints
To ask what his true
Motivations are. A
Cross necklace does
Not disguise a failing
Heart--and God only
Asks what it is he's
Living & fighting for?

Circles of grandma’s nails,
Round and round along my back--
“Cumbaya, my Lord,’
A melody on rewind.
The blinds flashed with lightning,
Shedding light on the quaint room,
Childhood in the textile details—
“I love you.”
My response quenched by salt,
The thoughts I was trying to shut off,
“I’ll see you soon.”
Wet pillowcase and itchy hair,
Forced breathing lifted to prayer—
All is well.
Slanted outlets, a bursting suitcase,
The smell of eucalyptus,
Crisp on a two dollar coin—
“Did you forget anything?”
Yes, only you.
A bundle of memories my mind
Decided to discard without consent,
Forever scrambling to grip
The dregs of what maybe was—
“I love you to the moon
and back”
I finally said, asleep in pieces,
A little girl, crying again.

Can I hold on to this laugh
A little longer?
Can I cover it with my body,
Like a child under raining
Debris, ensuring
It survives?
They are so far & between,
How can I remember this
When my frown
Grows deep?
Let me shield this golden
Laugh, preserving it,
Even after it is
Only a memory.

Hit the mat, hit the gravel,
Fall on your face, get up
Again and again; you’re
Bleeding and torn, your
Hair falls around crooked
Shoulders, and you shake
As you stand there—where
Has the enemy gone? You
Look at your fists and only
See shards of glass—looking
Up, you meet your own eyes. 

Mirrors huddle all around,
Broken and crying blood,
But you could have sworn
That they were real people,
That your fist had connected
With a human jaw, and as
You watch, the mirrors repair
Themselves like a jagged
Smile; and you know that
its time to fight again.

Is it in the strength
of our bones
That make some
able to stand up
and easily
defend themselves,
Stating assertive words
and walking off
without glancing back--
While others sit meekly,
Laughing off the unease
as a beguiling face
says everything
they want to hear--
Not knowing how
They could retreat
From the situation?
Or is it a choice,
to replace our joints
With mettle
and forget
the complacency
Of our old selves?

The leather belt trailed
Behind him as he walked.
It dragged on the floor, as if
Weary from a long day’s work.
Was it tired of hearing kid’s
Scream? did it wince with
Every hit, wishing it
Didn’t cause them?

A sodden dullness,
A damp rag over my eyes,
Sinking into my forehead.
It covered the aching
Boasting its reign over
My dilapidated mind.

A warm hand swept
Over my skin, checking
It’s rising temperature.
The back of a hand
Gentle on a burning head,
Replacing the towel
I had used to solve my
Own ignored problems—

Was it better to feel
Everything at once,
Or nothing at all?
The thoughts began to
Dwindle, dust in early
Light, until my mind
Was so numb to the
Pain, I couldn’t feel
My Savior’s love.

I blocked out the bad,
The unthinkable, and
Ceaselessly sealed
The cracks in my wall—
How did I wonder
Where all the good
Had gone,
If my mission was to
Let nothing in at all?

When I doubled over,
Knees landing hard
On the gravel,
I imagined I was an
Art installation--
A prospect of pain
For people to marvel at.

When we look at the formative years
Of our lives, in docile innocence,
We see so many faults—
Things we must fix, or else
We risk living our whole lives
on repeat. Is it too hard to think,
That sometimes, we change
Too much, and end up so far
From any semblance of good,
That we are worse than before,
As we were in our youth?

Reality cascaded around me
Like a waterfall before it crashes,
One you fight to break through,
Panting with anticipation for
The gold on the other side--
Except there is nothing more
Than a cave wall, dank
And dark, and full of echoes.

Ribaldric sentences,
Laughs and smiles
that we never meant.
Did either of us really want 

to chat that way?
Or was it a feigned requirement
we made up in our heads
Because we were taught,
as bumbling kids,
That something good
should always be bright,
Cheery, with no room
for the dark questions
And hard lines?

Fake it till you make it.
There was confidence
In his slate expression,
The stiffness of his walk
A methological swagger.
But his eyes of used
Charcoal and leather
Said Something different
What is it you are hiding?
What is the softness
In your heart that you
Are trying to harden?

When I was fourteen,
I stood tall in my skin,
Or at least, I thought
I did. But I was so small,
Taking up just enough
Space, thinking my name
Was not something
To be shared—
I did not know myself at all.

My tears slid under the door
And unlocked its hinge,
Control shaking my fingers,
Finally worn out.

The compassionate *****
Of my Father’s shoulders
Lowered to my level,
Stilling the tremors.

Ramshackle debris of Me
Littered the space,
The results of my own failed,
Selfish attempts.

I handed it to Him, the mess
Of the Room I was afraid
He would devestate, feeling
Only deep relief.

Inspiration overflows
The edges of a lephrechaun’s
*** of gold. And it vanishes
As frequently, as does
The end of a rainbow.

A wall of empty polaroids,
Picture frames of memories
That only existed in my head—
I waded in my worries, bathing
In the darkness of my knuckles

As they held tight to the control
Around my life’s throat—
At the bottom of growth, nowhere
To go but upward, toward the
Light of glistening things, of His
Glory working to shine through
The drapes I closed to stew in

My pain—before I was Saved.

One heart tied to mine, slowly
Loosening as the strings of Jesus
Grew stronger, brighter, fastened
Around a sapling He was dredging
From the soil—when did I outgrow
The other flowers of belief that
Surrounded? To one soul, I was
Unrecognizable, and to others, I
Was only catching up, floundering,
Until I realized He was the Center.

I am a downed tree slowly
Shedding its rough bark,
Growing pale & vulnerable
In the forest of Your love.

I looked down at my boots,

Studied the trailing laces,
And wondered how they
Had come undone.
Were they snagged on a
Small bush, a bramble?
Or in my haste to prolong
The fears I had to face,
Did I duck down and
Untie them myself?

The foam forms rings
In the tide—
Like blown glass
In the light.


The space between the leaves
Shows the words
We never said.


How lonely it must be
To be the missing piece
Of a set.

The illusion of shared smiles
And electrified nights--
Knowing someone basely

On how they were then
without exchanging names.

Even now, I look at those
Who are supposedly
Close friends, and wonder
What makes them more
than acquaintances?

That strain of connection
Appears out of reach,
Poppy seeds on the wind,
Mountains holding hands--
somewhere else entirely.

What is it those around me
Express through pointed looks
And fond gestures
That I cannot seem
to interpret?

A passage of unseen looks,
A stolen question, sequestered
By worries—
Can I see you
For a moment?
Words laid at a doorstep,
Fingers quietly wound together,
A hand holding a head--
Don’t speak,
You don’t have to.
God knows your heart better
Than I ever could.
Bring it to Him,
Fall apart,
Feel the Spirit catch you—
It is not my arms,
But the love of Christ
Supporting you through me,
Gracefully broken.

I am an empty guitar case,
Sitting dejectedly at the feet
Of an unshaven busker,
Lid open and velvet interior
Begging for something to
Be placed inside it—except
I never wanted crumpled
Green bills or rusty coppers.
I wanted a well-loved guitar,
Filling me as if it were molded
To my shape. I wanted silent
Melodies humming under a
Closed cover—life that sings
Internally and is not meant  
For other’s entertainment.

I am made of melted steel,
Sitll holding the title
Of something malicious,
Piercing and lethal--
But in a state that is
Defenseless, harmless,
Unable to defend itself
When approached
With something other

Than words.

My heart is always heavy.
But is it full to the bursting
With joy and purpose—
Or self-proclaimed doubt
And pressure?
Am I full of sadness and
Misgivings, or fueled by

The love of my Father?

Even as I feel tangible things,
Connection beyond imagined,
The reality of a life I do not deserve
Fades away, touching the horizon, only
A rosy haze of broken seashells,
Thoughts and blessings becoming one.
Deep reds and shadowed burgundies,
Faces of daises and laughs of green,
The colors coincide as the sky expands,
And I only feel my Father’s hand on me.