Alone in a crowd
All heads bowed to pray
I said all the words
the preacher said to say

I followed the rules
Tried to stay in the lines
that were drawn for me
I couldn’t question why

but I’m all out of faith
don’t think I can stay here with you
don’t where to go
don’t think I can know what’s really true

Alone in a crowd
among a thousand faces
all wearing a mask
tryin’ their best to fake it

Just follow the rules
and stay in the lines
don’t let ‘em see you breaking
and don’t you dare cry

but I’m all out faith
don’t think I can play at this no more
don’t know what to do
don’t know what I’m even praying for

I want to know your hear me
I’m so ******* scared
that all that I’ve believed in
was never really there

Did I really know you loved me
was I just puttin’ on airs
oh please just ******* say something, God
I want to believe you’re there

Alone in my room
left with my tears
I read that you catch them
and treasure them dear

Do my cries matter to you
these words that I pray
I’ve got nothing left, Jesus
Please don’t go away

Am I terrified or uninspired?
Am I dreading the process or just tired?
I want there to be meaning
to every pen stroke
Do I want to be impressive, profound, prolific
or do I just want someone to see me

That happened before, a few times
and it always felt like dreaming
yet it was always a fleeting moment in time

God, are you still there?

Do you see me the way those people did
poring over my work and investing in it
telling me what you really think
saying so much more than a passing “that’s good Dill” and then leaving me behind?

Is it good enough for you to like it
Even if it’s technically bad?
Does it get your attention?
Or do I already have your attention?

I can’t use my creativity to make you love me
I never had to
It’s such a thrill for someone to take notice of me when they didn’t have to
But you never had to, never have to
But every moment you notice me, don’t you?

Dad?

Do you notice me?

Even when my art is bad?

Do you believe I can do better? That taking the time to improve is worth it?

But my improvement doesn’t make you love me more either, nor does my lack of it make you love me less

But I don’t want to be disobedient

I don’t want to keep burying my pens in the sand

I want to love my art the way you love me, unconditionally

I don’t right now, right now I hate it
I hate my limits
I hate the lost time
I hate feeling like an invisible artist
yet I’m terrified to let myself be seen again

But it’s too late for that now

You already see me, don’t you? Warts and all.

And beyond what I could possibly understand
somehow, you like what you see
You love it
You love me

Even when I’m burying myself in darkness
Even when I’m dead inside and hiding from everyone
I can’t hide from you
I never could no matter how I’ve tried

All those wonderful times when people did see me, they saw my talent and my creativity and thought it was worth their notice when I never asked for it

That euphoria of being seen and loved

What if I could live there instead of in the shadows?
What if I could be grateful for what I have?
What if I could see the truth that I’m always seen and known?
What if you’re always celebrating me even when I feel worth the opposite?

Maybe you’re in my heart
always telling me how smart, talented, creative I am
Not lying about my weaknesses but celebrating my strengths

Can I hear it? The sounds of divine celebration?

Can I listen for what’s real instead of tuning that out in favor of the fake?

May the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable in your sight
Oh Lord, My God.

I want to take you to new places
and show you where I’ve already been
Wherever it is, I want you to run away with me
to wherever that place is.

I’ve spent most of my adult life
thinking that taking flight was a crime
I’ve felt no permission since I was young
to etch out worlds and creatures
far flung from reality.

If I open the gates again
and travel back in time to when
I didn’t think escape was sin
would you still walk with me then?

I can’t help but feel it still
a call from worlds I know aren’t real
to break the seal that holds the key
to tens of thousands of untold stories.

I fear the key will rust and rot
making the call of those worlds for naught
if I do not break the seal soon
the key’s resting place will be their tomb.

I have permission now, I must believe
in the gifts that God has given me
they were never meant to be buried
or turned to shame I had to carry

I won’t tarry here, my wings I’ll spread
I’ll fly to unknown worlds ahead
you can come too if you want
but if you won’t, I simply don’t
have time to wait.

I simply don’t have time to wait.

Oct 2019
A Word About Coming Out

So it's National Coming Out day.
A moment to get it off your chest and say
that you're transgender, bisexual, lesbian or gay.
A lot of my friends I know feel this way.

I have brothers and sisters within Church walls
who feel this way too, but are terrifed to be called
any of these labels, lest they lose their home
and get stripped of everything they've ever known

their desires are talked about like these diseases
creases on their soul for which they could never atone
or iron out with good behavior
or the most devout times of prayer

I think of this, and my heart breaks for you
because I admit, I've been there too
wanting for things I'm afraid to say
because of the way that I could be shamed

I’m not so sure about using a label
to define an experience so unstable
yet I can't help at times but be distracted
by the reality that I'm same-*** attracted

The church, I think, is too afraid
to face the fact that there are many who feel the same
we shame these desires from a distance,
talking like it's us VS them, as if that ecplises
the fact that this can happen to any of us

can we trust that Jesus is not afraid of this?
That his body is meant to be a safe haven
not a place where anyone fears being hated
for things they have no idea how how to change
as if anyone had a clue in the first place

There’s been too many to suffer in silence
Too many have succumbed to violence
Because of feelings they never asked to feel
and pain we don’t seem to think is real

I know what the Bible says, and I know it’s true
but Jesus never beat someone with it like we seem to
he calls us to repentance, but we act like we don’t need to
Yet our sin of silently allowing this abuse is something that made Christ bleed too.

So can we have a conversation, no debate
that we speak the truth in love, not hate
That we come forward with open arms
Repenting of our silent harm

Brother, sister, I’m so so sorry
That I wouldn’t have raised up an army
to fight for your right to exist with me
because my own secrets kept me hiding

So I’m deciding here and now
to let you know you’re loved, somehow
and I pray before life’s final breath
I can know Christ’s love stood the test.

What is my life without my pain?
What is it that I bring to the table
to talk about if my life isn’t unstable?
Am I able to say anything interesting
if it doesn’t carry the sting of my suffering?

I want to say I’m especially sad
to be able to say I’m especially bad
for the things I think, say and do,
since I threw away the idea that I was good at anything a long time ago.

And yeah, I know, some say I’m amazing
because they can’t draw, write, or sing
Like I ironically love to show that I can
until I can’t bring myself to anymore because
of everyone else that is far more adored for those things than I could ever hope to be.

I tend to go back there, by the way.
I tend to compare myself to those art wizards and rock gods
and weigh my worth against the odds that I could ever do the things they can
And it feels twisted that I can’t stand it
When I see my friends do it.
Forget them, I say, they aren’t you and your work isn’t worth how much it looks like theirs,
And art isn’t made to make people care about you
IT ISN’T MADE TO MAKE PEOPLE CARE ABOUT YOU!

...but why can I nearly scream that at you,
when that feels the furthest from true to me?

I make my drawings sometimes into lifelines,
hoping someone will see past the picture long enough to refute the words “I’m fine,”
thinking someone might reach in and save me
Why does it pain me so much to stop pretending
To stop being the artist or musician I’m “supposed” to be
Long enough to let myself speak honestly
That I don’t need to spin rhymes to say I feel like I’m dying

I don’t need to... right?

Can I just say plainly that I’ve lost this fight and need help standing up again,
Can I believe it isn’t a sin to be broken
and choose not to leave the hurt unspoken;
Can I stop choking on my self-hatred,
excusing my silent dishonesty by saying “I made the mess and I have to face it,

alone...”

I know my depression was born from lonely nights at home,
trying to make my own way to escape the pain and find my own version of safety
neglecting how insane the attempts to escape this life made me
pretending away the hole in my soul gave me nothing
and none of my escapes made me feel okay,
they were just bricks for the walls of the prison where I stayed
away from all my family that never knew I felt this way
and to be honest I didn’t realize how bad it was either
to be my own judge, jury, and executioner,
to throw myself in jail every single time I failed
never letting anyone pay to bail me out

But Jesus never asked for my permission.

This senseless self-preoccupation
sends me straight to Hell
and I can’t tell if it’s your fault or mine
it’s fine either way, I’m not sure I care at this point
I’m just tired of every piece of my life feeling so painfully out of joint
my heart conjoined with assumed opinions and criticism that even Satan would call excessive

And I push you away like you put this on me
that you expect me to be just like everybody else
or maybe that perspective veils the reality that I know I was made for more than this
******* away my time and energy worrying about if I measure up to what you expect of me

I mean, you want me to look like your firstborn son
how can I even begin to measure up to that after everything I’ve done?
or at least this is the tape I run repeatedly in my head
And in a way it’s like I dread hearing anything besides it
because if I hear a different sound
I’m bound to bigger responsibility and I’m pushed to the brink

And I find myself sinking beneath the terrible thought that you’re disappointed in me
That you find me disgusting and can’t wait to be rid of me
But while I’m making self-pity my revelry I so often fail to see the devilry of my thoughts
not catching that I’m thinking way more highly of my brokenness than I ought
and we’ve fought over this more times than I can count,

I know.

God, how many more times do you have to show me that the way I think just doesn’t work?
How many more times will you remind me I’m not loved because it’s earned?
That Jesus took on the curse that I deserved
I’ve read and heard the story a thousand times
even though I forget it at the drop of a dime
so remind me again, I don’t have to try so hard
to be the son you want and that...

you’re not nearly as far away from me as I think you are

I’m caught up in a cacophony
a mix of jarring noises sounding all at once
Your voice drowned out by hateful screams
reminding me of choices that make me
forget that You ever loved me

I wring my hands tight
with every single fight
that I watch myself lose again
and again
and again
and again
and my sin whispers words that
fall like anvils dropped from
the empire state building
and that cacophony gets that much louder.

And I come to find I certainly lack the power
to do anything that seems even of the slightest worth
to me, to you, to everyone that I threw away
because those anvils that hit me yesterday
hit me just a little too hard and
I don't want to get hit again because
I just might die next time.

My memory offers me nothing but unrest as my
conscience is put to the
test that I keep forgetting that I’m supposed to study for
and it's easy to blame it on the dog because it ate my textbook
or at least I say that because I don't want to look
at the words of life that I come to find only condemn me
for all the things I know I was supposed to do right the first time.

Because at first I think I knew
that You were the only one who was worth it
worth all my devotion and energy
and at one point I think I was blissfully caught up
in what sounded like a symphony
that in spite of the giant mess that was my life the Creator of the universe was somehow madly in love with me.

But now all I seem to do
is wonder why I can't hear the melody
only ever feeling guilty
that the grand staff where you wrote that symphony
strikes nerves instead of chords
leaving me feeling depressed, broken and even bored
and instead of a song I see an impossible score
that I'm sure I could never perform
well enough to feel like I was worthy of Your love.

But the person you sang to back then
I'm pretty sure he hated you
deeply longing for his sin
that he was head-over-heels for
a nightmare he said was his best friend.
And Lord I wish I could say all of this in the past tense
But my pretense can only go so far
you have scars for things I did today on your hands and feet!
And the noise of this reality hits me so hard that I can hardly breathe
Let alone begin to see that you never stopped playing the symphony.

Instead of striking me dead where I stand
and pouring out all the wrath you can
It makes so much more sense
That you should take my life
to make me pay the ultimate price
Jesus, You never did anything wrong
It should have been me, but in that song...

The lyric rings “Jesus paid it all.”

Oh Lord, how I long
that the cacophony
be drowned out by Your symphony
that I would hear every curse
Reorchestrated instead to sing of mercy
That every anvil that falls
in a hope to fell me
would be cast into the infinite sea
of grace where my body was buried
and it was!

The old me is dead and done
Yesterday is a memory and no longer
what I'm doomed to become
because the price You paid

I confess, God, it's enough.