In the night of  September the first. At 11pm or so.
The love of a mother came and rested upon me.
Your hands are rough and wrinkled. I felt it with my hands. You held me like that too. When I was little and young and didn't knew how hard it was for you to give birth to me.
You are so precious to me.
I held you tighter, slowly as tears went down my face. My heart filled with thankfulness.
Thank you. Mother.
For loving, caring for me.
For washing the dishes, and cooking me meals.
For paying the bills and bringing me to school.
For ironing my clothes. For scolding me too.
Thank God for you.
You would hold me and kiss me.
Like that night that I was sick.
I was a little kid back then. With a pad to cool my fever down.
You placed your hand on my forehead.
I still remember the sound you made when you rubbed your hand against my forehead.
When the childhood memories and fears came in.
Thank you. Mother.
One with such a beautiful heart. And hands that held me close.

Mouth. Voice. Hesitant. Flesh vs Spirit.
Fear vs Love.
If only I could stop letting the lizard step on the plans God has for me.
If only he could stop conducting the ochestra in my head. To play the music he wants to hear.
Help me see past the nice wrapped empty boxes. What if the cardboard boxes out of view kept bars of silver, marble and gold. Or something even better.
If only I could stop riding on marble waves, and drown in deep. To have been surrounded by your Love. Mercy. Grace.
Maybe I don't know the plans, but you showed me pieces, cassate tapes, videos of what your plan is for me.
Show me more.
Show me pictures of your majesty.
Movies of what is a Godly family.
Help me get past this.
Open up my heart.
Force open it.
I want to give you the keys. You know my secrets, my dreams.
You take care of me in my sleep...
Lord, my family, my friends.
Help me with my insecurities...

Calls a number, switches channels in seconds.
Wished to have pleasures, skin to skin, longed for touch.
Hits and punches. Down the line, it's actions can cross the lines.
I didn't want to do them.
Nothing I do is my own really.
Where it's either my fleshy, hairy minds and crowns, or it's the light and God's presence that guids my hand.
My navigation is haywire, vision obscene and covered with blinds.

I don't want to be in this body.
Nope not because of it's shape not size.
Not because I am chiseled or not.
Not fat nor skinny. No, not because of that.
I just hate the decisions it makes, its ideas it has, the vision it has, makes. Me. Sick.

I didn't choose to be in pain.
I didn't choose to see the death of another, or myself.
I didnt choose to be in this time of suffering and agony.
I won't have chosen them.
I would never want to forget them.
How they taught me to forgive.
How they taught me things I otherwise wouldn't have learnt.
How they could set someone free when I am in chains...
How I am locked tight to your Love.
Never to be able to leave.
Never to be able to run away.
Huh.
I could have never been happier.
To be in chains.

From a far-off land.
He wasn't popular.
She wasn't liked.
He was weak.
She was always tired.
He was a runt.
She was called a '****'.
They were never in a team, when the kids played football.
They were pushed when they ran.
They were unloved, pushed around.
Left alone in the canteen.
Where they sat in the seats with dust.
Yet. They were called.
From the heavens.
God called. How could someone so broken like them. Be loved?
But people like them learnt to love others.
But people like them are humbled and was willing to learn.
But people like them were broken so that they can be made stronger.
It was nothing about them though.
Nothing about if they would fail or not.
It was.... Nothing about others too.
It was about God.
He called them his children.
And so does me and you. :)

Morning blue night
pouring into our time,
dying seems so sweet in silence.

i want you to beat me up
real bad
please please let me bleed completely
before infancy clots at the back of my mind
don't wait for me to be tired
break me all at once
grind my feelings into a powdery mess
so that when someone enters our bedroom they slip on the floor and see a stretch mark-ed ceiling
to not know pain but just how ironical numbness is
                      and then hug me
like you would a voodoo soft toy
with the scratched leather wings
of a bewitched witch who has seen it all sober
but still can't tell a sheep's wool from snakeskin
caress my dilapidated knees
without once telling me to stand up on my own or for myself
all i want from you is
to **** me at dawn
i'll know that i was loved
enough or.... at least.

I'm so small
smallest
dot
explosion
patience
distance
time
existence
maybe smaller.

its not that i hate or hated you.
its not that i didn't loved you or the other way round.
its not that you hated me.
not even because you hated me for no reason.
its not that you disappointed me.

its about me disappointing you.
the fear the weight.
its about me being weak, not being strong enough.
its about me saying "I am not stupid." Because somewhere, deed inside, says that I am.

But you said it about you.
it was and would always be how powerful you are.
it was and would always be how mighty you are.
of how you are the creator.
about how the rock was Jesus.
about how i can hold onto the miracles and things you did for me, but trust in you and speak to that rock. that i may enter into your promise for me.

it didnt  matter how weak i was. or how i think i am weak.
it didnt matter if i was gonna disappoint you or not.
it was about you not about me.