At my best You praise my victories,
and bath me in light.
At my worst,
You hold me close,
and praise the goodness still inside of me,
reminding me I’m not a failure.
You refuse to leave me in the dark.

At my best you celebrate every moment.
No matter how big or small.
At my worst You hold my hand.
And with every step I take,
You refuse to let go.

At my best Your love rains down on me,
surrounding me in pure joy and everything I had hoped for.
At my worst Your love still rains down on me,
penetrating every tear I cry,
and every stabbing pain I feel.

You’re there when all is good,
and You’re there when nothing is okay.
It doesn’t matter when or where,
You remain steadfast in Your Love,
and in turn it leaves me awestruck.
Completely awestruck in Your Love

there are always words that evoke
gentle and soft imagery
like the fireflies in dense forests
where we could wander
pathways lit up by the glow of stars
count the bones of the great oak trees
lead me through the thickets
kiss the scars on my thighs
we'll listen to the sound
of crashing waves against
your voice when you laugh
we'll guess the age of the universe
discuss epistemology and literature
I'll watch the way your jaw line moves
when you smile and whisper
or how your body tenses at my touch
the moment your eyes spark  
and dilate to my presence
I'll caress your body against mine
bliss at the sweetness of your heat
I'll oscillate with the trees
knowing that together
we can conquer windmills

This isn't him,
This can't be the face he's left here,
This isn't the face he's used to seeing,
Solidified in the mirror.
It can't be the current one,
Or even close,
It's not at all how he recalls from the ponds he's known.
Not the one admired,
On crystal clear days,
Or the one sang with,
Through some humming nights.
Maybe his memory is just fogged up,
Maybe this reflection is just blurry from the showers,
They'd have burned others skin.
Still this can't be the face.
Not with the potholes for eyes,
Waning moons for lips,
And cliches for brains.
Or maybe things,
Maybe they do just change,
Maybe sometimes somethings sink in the earthquakes,
And are never swam in again.
Maybe sometimes there's no hope for reversal, redemption,
Or some rectifying light to right what's left,
Only hope in surviving the new.
I guess that's all there ever was.
If only he had it sooner,
He would have thrived in the old world,
Found melodies in the days and more mirror-less memories for the nights.
Only then could things be better off,
Different.

Dating with anxiety
Is always over thinking.
The messages never replied to lead to the thoughts swirling through your head.
Every detail gets scrutinized.
Every moment replayed over and over until you can't think.
The little things that no one looks at become huge and the reason anything went wrong.
You try to be normal and not let it show because if they really know they will run away.
Being crazy isn't easy. The normal ones don't understand.
They don't get what your brain demands.
The need to be reassured and affirmed, to know that they haven't changed their minds.
But how do you say it? How do you let them into your hell? How would somone stick around after they understand the interworkings of the cells that create the mass that is you.
You spend the nights laying awake thinking. Wanting to just let it all spill out like a glass of milk knocked off the table but instead you walk on egg shells and pretend you're not internally freaking out. That you haven't spent all day looking at a message then closing the phone. Only to open it again and begin to reply ....but wait if you reply now you're clingy. But how do you gracefully walk the line between crazy and cute?

The answer.
You don't. You just silently go insane and internalise it all for the sake of saving face. To appear like the person they want. Because if you can be that then everything will be fine.

But what happens when the glass pane shatters when the mirror image you projected crumbles? What happens when the monster you've been shutting down for weeks on end to seem normal starts to seep through the cracks? What then? Will he still be there? Will he be able to handle it?

You go on a date and the conversation leads to "oh I have anxiety" he looks at you and just kinda shruggs. You glaze over the subject and move on. Like I had just said god bless you after a sneeze no second thoughts. No further questions. The cat is out of the bag but does he realize that by cat I mean lion? Huge, ferocious, dominant, lurking in the background ready to strike? No. Because I am a good pretender. I am good at making the facade up to par. What you don't see is the circus dancing around the erupting volcano inside. Every cell vibrating trying not to implode.

They don't see the girl who can't breathe because she is so far down the black hole that swallows her whole lost in the inner workings of her mind. Screaming to be seen and accepted. Begging to be allowed out. Needing to show herself.

But no. That's not allowed. Once it's out there it can't be put away. You cant just say haha just kidding. Because the damage is done. You've either found one who will take the shattered girl or everything you've thought would happen does and you're alone again.

My heart is a messy place
I don't clean up often
My emotions lay about like worn jeans and pile up at every corner
Murky tears that were long bemoaned
Lay inside my pillowcases long after they have dried
And make heavy a light thing where my thoughts reside
Shadowy folks have  unmade beds  
Though long beparted
And declared dead
Many things that was once fresh
Have now grown brown reached their Autumn
They still roam the halls and vents
Like after tastes of mint long after the in scents have burnt
Every possible surface is stained with faces
Shelves are stacked and layered and stuffed
And though I rummage for space
There is never enough
Not for an ant
Or a hand
Or a new thing
Just room enough for me
And this big old mess of memories

i fear one day that
i will write to please.
i will not write what
needs to be said, i
will not write what begs
to be removed from my
aching chest, i will
not write when i need
to write, i will not
tell my truths to my
small community.
i fear that i will
lie to make others
feel the emotions
they want to feel, not
the emotions i
need so urgently
to get out of me.