God I don’t talk
about you anymore.
But God I think about
you when it’s necessary.
I think about you
every time I drive
by Lourdes.
I do that every day.
They taught you to me there.
I heard your name
more times a day than
I heard my own.
I think about those
poor little Catholic
kids, who didn’t have a
choice in the way they
believed in you.
Nothing was on our
terms.
There were no exceptions
to our thoughts.
Nothing was right
until we found a Psalm
about it.

God
I think about you
in between asleep
and awake.
When part of me
remembers the Sunday
I went to church
only to be force fed
the Pro-Life agenda.
God I respect
humans.
God they didn’t respect
us.
God I was too afraid
to ask questions.
God their eyes
looked like hate.
God I don’t want
to go to hell.

My Bible
has been sitting
on my closet floor
for a year and a half.
I’m too afraid
to open it
for fear I’ll find
fire and brimstone
in between the Beatitudes
and the Passion.

God I believe in you
I believe in love
I believe in kindness
I believe in life
I believe in good vibes
I believe in fate.
God I believe in everything.
I knelt by my bed
tonight
and prayed
for everything little
Catholic girl
who’s thinking everything
I did.
I understand none of it
and I pray that she will.

as dawn turns to noon into dusk
and the day truly begins
in the winter, anyway
where most of your time is spent in poor lighting
and frost

but the moon hangs high in the sky
if only briefly, as a contrast
and i've always wondered
as the clouds pass in front of the moon

if they begin to miss each other
even just for a moment
despite the fact that they know that they'll encounter each other tomorrow
if the routine is so comfortable
that they get nervous just thinking about it changing at all

that one day
they may never experience that comfort again
the one consistency in this crazy world
yearning for the clamminess of each other's hands
if only for a brief moment
just to relive those cool nights once again
pushing for more and more
but when you feel like the potential is gone
mirrors cracked, hearts sinking, warmth gone
even an unpleasant sensation
becomes good enough
to die for

my palm ,
i cut,
my palm
i stared
my palm,
was bleeding,
i watched it bleed
until it froze
in the cold
my palm's now
warm
burning
with heat
maybe its the painful emotions
trying to pour out
of my cuts
thank god

they can now be free,i wish,
after they are bled out
they shall disappear
oh,i wish

i am
watching my scar now so timid and quietly pouring,and again
it froze.
what a scene.
no?
:(

Mama can sing lullabies to the baby
for 18 years
and daddy can come and go,
leaving the garden with a message
for baby:

'You have a river inside you.
white water and grizzly bears
chasing salmon.
the world is wild, baby.'

Green-eyed child stumbles away from the nest
with a head of butterflies,
soft hands.
She didn't see the meteor
when it fell form the heavens
and struck her baby face.

She saw clearly
for the fist time
a world without mother's song.
Millions, billions
of men and women,
digging a pit in the cold earth.

'To the world, dear baby,
you are but flesh
and working arms.
So pick up a shovel'
said the man in the suit.

'Start digging.
We're going to hell'