Listen, I tend to write like I'm speaking in a conversation. Mostly because I wish I had somebody to talk to. And if I'm being honest, you'd be my first pick to talk to. Life never treated us the was we thought it would mostly because we're optimistic than realistic.

I tried talking to you at least 10 times today. And every single time I wish I didn't close up in my own embarrassment. I tried 10 times and didn't talk to you once. and if you ever hear this poem than maybe I finally did succeed in talking to you.

Sometimes, when I write poetry, I hope you're reading over my shoulder so I wouldn't have to say it out loud. I'm sorry that I blame everything on time, and how if I had another minute, I'd tell you "I love you". But I can't...

I'm sorry I make things awkward because I'm scared of telling you what I'm really thinking. I wish I knew how to write this without wishing you were gonna read it. Because maybe you never will.

Part of me will never be okay with that because you may go your whole like never know that somebody wrote pages about you that never made it to your eyes or ears.

I'm sorry that I'll never have enough courage to read this to you. I'll wish I did when you feel sad or unloved. Because something like this will remind you of why we never let anyone take control of our lives because we are Gods right?

Or at least you were.

And I know infinity can't hold up to your brilliance so please don't cry when you the world's grip on your shoulders. You're already stronger that you thought you were.

Part of us will always suffer in the moments we never said what really mattered. But it seems like time is already passing us by.

I know you've already forgotten the lyrics to the first song I ever sent you. And soon my name will fall on that list as well.

Just take a pack of cigarettes to the rooftops like you always said you would.

It's okay if you don't remember why you're up there.
I guess this is where most conversations end.

See you soon.

Or rather...

See us.

Growing up in a Christian home, you'd expect someone like me to have committed myself to working for God since I was 4 or 5.

Aha...

But no. I used to think that too.

I was 11 and it was the middle of the night. I was crying and sweating bullets calling out to God to save me. This is the kind of thing I will not be required to explain to a skeptic or somebody who questions why I do thing the way I do. I have never been very open about faith during my life. But this isn't about me.

Let's talk about something else, so there's this guy, Isaiah. A prophet, said to have understood and described the mystery of Jesus. Something people today would never figure out. Isaiah would prophesies the future in such a way that you wouldn't know he was talking about the future. He wrote songs about the revelation songs... I write songs...

I know a little boy at my church, his name is Isaiah, and part of me wonders if he will write song, or poetry praising God along with it.

Let's talk about silver, a metal used as currency, or plates written on in biblical times, and its brother metal gold, is seen in the garden of Eden, where everything was perfect.

Gold is seen as perfection. Heaven paved the streets with it, can you imagine the glory? But no, silver, seen as second place to gold, seen as "not-as-pure". Because silver will tarnish right? I am silver, tarnish is my sin, I will never be gold in this skin.

And Isaiah was silver turned gold by God and now Isaiah, you are on silver, printed with your own words.

Here me now:

Written in Isaiah Chapter 55 verse 9.

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts higher than your thoughts." Says the Lord!

This is not to say that because I am religious that I'm better than anybody. This is to remind myself that I am to be humble, and human, and silver.

Not perfect by any means, but working towards a life I've needed since that night when I was 11.

I am human, and Christian, and nothing can change that. this silver reminds me that I'm not perfect.

This verse reminds me...

That I still have work to do.

All the cliché Hollywood movies keep reminding me that love doesn't come by that easily. And it's a hard truth for me to accept.

And all through elementary I've always been the crush-er, the person crushing on the good looking person over there!

I've never been the person crushed on. But that aside, I've been filled up with all this love for you. I'm not sure if it's real or not.

You see, I've seen fake love so much that I've convinced myself that this love is also fake...

I won't tell you, "I love you" because I don't want to lie to you. But how can I still feel like I'm not lying? I still feel guilty.

I've never been "in love".

I've loved, and been loved in return, but is this--

Real?

I know you're out there, but I'm impatient. But I am willing to wait for love... if it really is real..

I'm sorry for lying.

I have never been employed or earned any money for the work I do. And yet I still have a job to do.

For I am the door keeper, a guard, a lookout... a friend.

My job is simple yet complicated, for I have many jobs rolled into one.

I stand by the door and wait for people to approach me. Some talk to me, most people don't. Don't you know that I do my work for you? I don't get paid for my work, but I still think it's worth it to keep working.

I am the door keeper.

I stand by the weak, injured, and the broken with the strength I still have. When the people who I help finally regain their strength, they walk away from me, not even leaving a "thank you".

I am the guard.

When danger arrives at someone else's doorstep, I am there to see that they are not harmed, I will warn the of danger and guide them out of harms way.

I am the lookout.

Whenever you need me I will be there, I'll hold your hand and help in any way I can. I will always be here.

I am your friend.

I have always been here, but people don't see me anymore. I have become a ghost. I wonder what it takes to become alive again. But I can't just leave, whether or not people see me. I need to keep working. My job doesn't cost money, it costs lives.

A treasure more valuable than money.

I can't stop working.

I am the door keeper watching for their smiling faces. I am the lookout for their lives, and the guard of their hearts. But most importantly a friend.

A friend they might never see, but I'm still here.

I can't leave just yet. Because I still have a job to do.

I once asked my parents if I could join cadets. They asked me if I knew what cadets grew up to be. I never brought it up again.

I got into a fight with a friend about her ex. We haven't spoken in months. She still hasn't forgiven me...

Someone detuned the piano in my mind and now music sounds awful. I want to find where melody and harmony met and made a straight line coming back to me.

Over the logs and dirt of a camp ground, you still shine. A blazing, bright fire.

Fire is also an element of destruction, of rage, but also of love. The burning red love you have for someone.

But my favourite type of fire is blue fire. Looking like the polar opposite of burning red hot, blue fire is hotter than red.

And to think that a full rainbow can come out of the flames of chaos.

How beautiful is the colour of destruction...

My first thought when I wake up:

Is that I hate you.
You make me so mad
And you cause me so much pain.
You -- are my reflection.

And I'll say a prayer by my bed just for you.
Dear God, teach me how to love myself.
Amen.

Is my last thought when I go to bed.