When I look back on my words
In the suffocating dredges
Of night, thoughts as fallen stars
And eyes refusing to close,
I wish for nothing more
Than to feel Your presence
Filling the hollows of my room
And the ghastly shadows I had
Envisioned as looming figures—
A gold-brushed light bathing
My insomniac regrets with
The love that is perfect
And unfailing, no matter
How much I doubt.

Open my heart, Lord—
You do not need to
Surgically split it,
Or probe the pieces—
You know it inherently,
Without looking,
Every breath’s origin
Lies in you,
And it beats steadily
In your cupped hands—
I have never felt more
Peace in this world
Of broken smiles
And warped intentions,
Than when I trust in your
Image and your plan.

A sanctum of denial,
Concealing my faults--
A cushion of half-truths;
How many layers have
Amassed over the darkness
Underneath?
Countless years of internalizing,
Clasping the faults close,
Hands like golem and his ring
In my chest, shaking with
The anxiety I knew I shouldn’t
Keep—but cherished anyway,
Secret, mine, a way for me
To feel in control.
How long will I delay
The inevitable breakdown

That comes with realizing
All my most incarcerated,
Ebony-black thoughts
And parts of myself
Are with Him, and He
Only loves me
no matter
how dark
they are.

When I think of a field,
Covered in dew,
Blanketed by night
And a smattering of stars,
I think of you--
Lying outstretched
In a copse of grass
Beside me,
Pouring out our hearts
To our lord and savior,
Jesus.

Blasphemy,
He had a whole page
Of facts about me--
An entire biography
I had written myself
From blabbering.
But when I set down
To write his,
Only a name
Was scrawled in ink--
Kind words? A bright face?
But what did he look like
When the moon only shone
On glass fragments,
And the air turned dark
From the absence of voices?
I saw Jesus in his heart;
He spread his abounding love
By simply talking with those
Who were looked down upon.
But besides his acts from afar,
What do I know that he has told me
In hushed, timbre tones,
Sober with intentionality?
Shame-faced, I think
“Nothing.”

Silence comes in so many shades--
Those of blue things unsaid,
or honeyed marigold,
Dancing around our heads.
There is the umber of dark,
of hearing nothing,
Yet sensing eyes in the smog
--and the sterile white,
of trepid understanding.
I value silence above all things.
Because, in it, one voice speaks
He reaches out, quelling the shades
To one of a deep pink,
An affection so rich,
That words cannot begin to express
how it fills him.
So, he shows it through silence.

How do you know when someone
Is meant to be in your life?
Is it a feeling, an ever-present,
glowing “yes,” that sings?
Or is it a subtle voice,
One barely daring to speak,
noting how gentle he stands,
how your posture lightens
When he enters the room?
Is it the kindness of his hands,
or the intentionality of his words?
His voice is rolling hills,
quiet and genuine,
But loud and boisterous
When he needs to be.
A serene peace,
a deep understanding
Of where his feet should be
Standing and direct,
yet never raised,
Or sitting and patient,
waiting for another soul
to sit beside him and ask:
“So who’s this Jesus?”
I want to be that person.
but is that seat filled?

Am I supposed to sit
in a different row entirely?
Lord, what is this wall,
this barrier, blocking me
From connecting?

Blanketed by chimney sweeps
And coal dust the color
Of wilted childhood innocence,
I sat before the fireplace,
Crisscrossed, wondering
If my tears were enough
To put out the burgeoning flames
And clean the filth on my skin
Yet, I knew, only One’s blood
Could wash it away

I am Loved,
a truth that sometimes hurts,
I am Scared
something I loathe to admit
And I am Yours,
a fact that gives me strength
To say all these things