We were the kings and queens
Standing tall and proud with our scraped knees and missing teeth
Wielding illustration board swords and construction paper crowns
As we ruled our backyard kingdoms with justice and innocence

We were the greatest heroes that ever lived
We donned our stark-white towel capes and sprinkled baby powder pixie dust on our backs
Our feet never left the pavement
But we soared higher than the cotton candy clouds

We were astronauts orbiting the cold darkness of space
Protected only by our tin foil and cardboard helmets
We spent hours counting every twinkling star and hitching rides on each passing comet
Marveling at the earth with eyes as bright as the nebulae that pierced through the velvet blackness

We were builders, inventors, creators
We built up and tore down skyscrapers with the touch of a hand
We formed galaxies that dripped from our tongues like honey
The earth itself moved along with our bodies that never seemed to tire

But we were only ever seen as children
They told us to stop horsing around, to stop our nonsense
But this “nonsense” was the only thing
That had ever made sense to us

“Grow up.” Those words stung like a slap to the face
“Grow up.” They left sticky teardrop trails on our cheeks
“Grow up.” Repeating over and over again until they made our ears bleed
“Grow up.” Until we had no choice

So we took off our crowns and left them to rust
Crumpled and abandoned at the bottom of our backpacks
Collecting pencil shavings and pad paper debris
Crushed by the weight of our responsibilities

We removed our capes and robes
Dropped our swords and shields
Leaving them to rot in the very closet
Where we sought courage to fight the monsters that we used to be scared of

We traded our tools and scepters
For textbook rifles and good-grade grenades
And our feeble little bodies could barely take the load
We were drafted in a war that we were too young to fight

We tucked away every trace of our childhood
In the pockets of our ripped jeans and underneath our briefcases
We hid them from prying eyes and jeering tongues
Hoping that the blossoms sprouting from our minds wouldn’t be seen through our hats

We lost touch with our past
Like an childhood friend who moved away
And although you never saw him again
You still remembered his name

Why are we so afraid to let our minds run free?
Do we fear the goldfish bowl of judgement so much
That we do our best to make it seem like we have nothing from our past left to show
And we only end up ripping up our imagination to destroy the evidence of its existence

But child, I hope you find bits and pieces of it
Whether they are wedged in between the pages of your favorite book
Or folded neatly in an old shoe box
Or perhaps sitting in your mother’s attic, gathering dust

Maybe you’ll find it in a series of knocks on your door
And I hope you let it in
And listen carefully while it speaks
Let it tell you stories of when you were royalty, a hero, an astronaut, a builder

And when it hands you a crown
A cape, a helmet, a sword
Please don’t be ashamed to use them
Don’t be afraid to remember

But if you tell it that you don’t need those things anymore
And that you no longer need them to dream, that’s okay too
Because growing up never meant letting go of your imagination
It only meant turning it into your reality

Dying love in a gilded cage,
Imprisoned by my pent up rage.
You never loved me, but neither did I,
The last gift you gave was the gift of goodbye.

I used to be delighted around fire.
Blowing out candy-colored candles,
On carefully crafted cakes,
And I watched as year by year they increased.

I used to be fascinated by fire.
Eyes as bright as the flames I glared at,
Sat in my parents’ bathroom, with my parents’ lighter.
Burning pieces of tissue until the paper was nearly consumed.

I used to be afraid of fire.
Sparks danced and leapt beside our home,
Turning grass into ash, flowers into embers.
3 in the morning could’ve ended up in mourning

I used to be on fire.
Passionate and determined for all the wrong reasons,
And the world doused me in its cold, unforgiving water,
Too damp to light, too late to recover.

I was drawn to temptation like a moth to the flame,
But the fire only singed my wings,
And though the flames made me feel pain,
At least I was feeling something.

I was a charred and hopeless pile of nothing,
Smoke slowly rising from the blaze I could’ve been,
Ashes as dark and blackened as my heart,
Abandoned and pitiful like a used campfire in the woods.

Then I heard the scratch of a match,
The rubbing of rocks,
The scraping of sticks,
And then the crackle of a new and growing fire.

Someone had set me ablaze once again.
Fanning my flames even though He was scorching his fingers,
Made sure I was flourishing, made sure I never went out,
Until I grew bigger and brighter than I had ever been.

I am on fire once again, but only for the One who lit my flames,
Glowing and burning for His glory.
Hoping that one day my embers would spread far and wide enough.
To be able enough to ignite for Him, someone else’s ashes.

Note To Self:*

If the world were to end tomorrow, today would just be today. Lunch would just be lunch, depending which day, the sun would rise and the sun would set and I would probably be leaving a lot of things unsaid, because how am I supposed to know the world is going to end tomorrow?

If the world were to end tomorrow, I would leave the idea of tomorrow to gather dust ‘till the sun’s fingers came to pluck it from my grasp, and I would not mind letting it go.

For if the world were to end tomorrow, tomorrow would be the most beautiful thing to ever happen to this world since God first sang, “Let there be light.”

And there was light. And tomorrow, again.



Things To Do:

1. Cook some hot, sticky rice for breakfast. These little legs of mine will be needing all the energy they can get for some spontaneous visits and last attempts at trying to save the child who dug his own grave and is now standing at its mouth asking himself if this is what heaven looks like.

2. Make my way to the resting place of the one I loved the most.
Smile. I don’t know if it would be wide or not.
Leave a note in green ink —
“See you soon.”
Hug the stone angel that used to give you comfort when you had just lost your mother.
Hum a hymn on my way out.
Leave the gate unlocked.
Let the street children pour in.

3. Run back to the walls placed in my path,
dance around seven times while singing psalms
until they fell
if
they fell
or maybe I would stumble around seven times
while crying and screaming mercy
until they fell
if
they fell.

4. Love harder. Carry around words of fire, vomiting flames of spirit and life to keep the virgins’ lamps burning, remind them that their groom is returning, He just needs to make sure that everything will be pure in time for their vows, and they need to remember that death is not the final destination, but only the beginning of a new journey in which everywhere you go, your car window view is a valley of dry bones coming back to life, and if still they refuse to listen, I will only love them harder.

5. Pretend as if I’m dying then whisper stories of hope into the ear of the kind stranger that kneels down to help me. For some people only listen when shouts have become echoes.

6. Ask around for directions and instructions on how to finish off this list I am making. Take the hands of whoever has the right answers or of whoever has at least one of the same on their sheet of paper, run to any place we can call shelter and sing praises. Quietly. Loudly. Sing with nasal tones and chest tones and head tones, sing until our lungs collapse beneath us, sing like our shakey notes can pierce the darkness, sing like the moon is still shining and the sun isn’t darkened and all the stars haven’t yet fallen, sing until we see glory bleeding from the sky and

7. Weep with gladness. For here comes God singing for the second time,

“Let there be light.”

And there was light. And today, again.

Who am I that you are mindful of me?
Despite my hidden sin and evil thoughts.
How could it be?
That you, oh Lord would die for me?

Many times I let you down,
But even then your love abounds.
Every foolish mistake I made,
each time I made your heart ache.

I look upon the wickedness of this land,
As I see the works of men.
Greed, killings, exploitation,
happens in every nation.

Robbery, kidnap, prostitution,
****, ******, molestation.
Every crude and wicked deed,
Don't these men deserve death indeed?

Yet you died for them on that cross,
and for that, I'm filled with remorse,
for every moment I condemned,
In my mind or with my lips,
any of these men.

You died for them and died for me,
and because of this I'm free.
Freed from every guilt and shame,
Freed from death and eternal pain!

And for this I pray,
have your way,
fill my heart with compassion,
compassion for the nations.

For they do not know what they do.
For they do not know you.

I felt free.

I wasn't *******.

I wasn't restricted to anything.

I was free.

Free from blame,
Free from shame,
Free from any chains that were holding me back.

Someone has paid to bail me out.

I thought I was going to spend my whole life,
Locked up behind bars.

But, no.

Someone who unconditionally loved me set me free.

I don't deserve it,
But He said I do.

Because He washed me with His blood.
Now, I am white as snow
And I am set free.