What does it mean to yield? How do I do it?

Do I have to stop,
or do I merge into what’s already flowing?

Do I just let God plant a seed in me and let it keep growing?

Or do I stop and see what’s coming, hoping I’ll make the right choice somehow?
What do I do God?
There’s so many things always pulling, I get lost and forget which way I was rowing.

But then I see your signs and remember that there’s something more worth yielding for.
Something more worth giving my life for.
I know the truths in me and I’ve found something worth fighting for.
Worth dying for.

but

I’ve never cried Lord, more than when I’m on the floor.
On my hands and knees begging you please to hear my pleas.
Because this world gets too heavy, and the burden doesn’t just hang on my back.

It slips in the cracks that have formed over time
because this broken soul tries to climb without a harness.
This broken soul tries to be someone he’s not.

Lies, steals, lusts,
but still gives it all he’s got.

This broken soul can’t carry the burdens of the world.

They’re too heavy to hold,
when the same hands and back back are trying to carry a sister who was addicted to crack, who’s marriage has fallen to pieces and she’s trying to stick them together and get it back
but she’s forgotten that you’re the thread that keeps it all together.

Without it, we’re dead.

This broken soul tries to hide the lust but whenever no one’s looking, he falls back into old habits and selfish desires that requires him to de-humanize women and see them only as things that bring him satisfaction.

There’s something so terribly wrong with that.

Something needs to change and fast.

And it’s this same mouth that lies and slanders because he wants people to like him and so he puts on another face in hopes to hide away the toxic black that builds up when he forgets to yield.

When I forget that there’s beauty in the brokenness.
When we finally come up and confess.
That we’re all a ****** broken mess.

and then we hope for more because we’re told to score.
but we never make the cut,
there’s few that do.
but when they’re through,
they’re broken too.

There’s beauty in the brokenness

Someone loves this broken mess.

We’re stuck safe in our heads,
at least, that’s what we think until it all caves in or someone breaks the code and walks right in.

Then we’re left lingering in a place we can’t escape, and we have to accept that it may
never
be
the same.

At some point we have to admit that we don’t have it all figured out, and listen to the cries of your heart.

Shout, let it out!

There’s beauty in the brokenness.

The one who loves that broken mess,
is the same one who can put it all back together.

He can make it better.
Heal the wounds that tear in rough weather.

He'll fix the locks,
reset the clocks
and turn back time to when your doors weren’t closed,
when do you suppose?
you’ll have enough strength,
enough courage
to last the length it takes to show that you have nothing?
it's takes everything
to show that you have nothing.

And realize that it’s when we show we’re broken,
share we share that token,
that we become everything he wants us to be.

When we finally yield,
slow down,
stop,
look around,
we’ll remember that we don’t actually need to go anywhere.
We don’t need to do anything.
Because no matter what you do,
where you go
or how many times you’ve fallen down
no matter how many times you’ve dirtied the gown

He loves these bruised

hurting,

damaged,

anxious,

depressed,

lustful,

brok­en messes

and nothing will change that.

No more, no less.

So, what does it mean to yield?
remember,
There's beauty in the brokenness.

i guess i should write something that's not about you
i love
trees
ponds
skies
blondes
you were blonde
****.

my life has been a big joke
never taken seriously
nor seriously taken
mostly just laughable, memorable
scenes you would place in an indie movie

imagine the most contrived and self absorbed
cinematic extravaganza
that always ends in happily ever after
now in place the high school version of me
and play it on repeat
welcome to my life
as simple plan would say

on my average every day
you could count the amount of times
i think of nothing but myself
only if each was a dot that freckled my skin
only if each was a non perishable in a food donation bin
but in the latter case you wouldn't have enough
and when I realized that
the daunting reality of human depravity
is when God became so much more real
when he slapped me across the face
and blood dripped from my nose
not from the brunt of the blow
but from the hand of the innocent
not just the one who was sent
but the ones who cannot be sent
cannot be moved
and cannot escape
trapped
in someone elses sick idea of prosperity
someone's sick idea of "making it"
the only thing we're "making it"
is someone else's hell
and when God slapped me across the face
he said to me
"LOOK AT MY CHILDREN, MY CHILD!
LOOK AT MY CHILDREN
BEING STACKED AND PILED
LOOK AT MY CHILDREN BEING REJECTED
NEGLECTED
BEAT
HIT
ABANDONED
MY CHILD
I hear their cries
i hear them breaking
their hearts being crushed under the pressure
i see their homes being taken away
i know the depths of darkness they experience
each and every. day.
my children they are suffering
my children they are lost
broken
sprawled out on the floor
being made into each others tool of satisfaction
and that's only a fraction

my children
run to them
not away from yourself
towards me"

that's when I started taking God seriously
the day I realized that this world is too ******* up to be able to even cope

now my life isn't a joke
because my life may be someone else's hope.

its troublesome still.
is it ever achievable?
in this lifetime,
scarcely.
I wish to attain it
unconditional love
but Im selfish and mostly want it for myself
to lay my head on your lap when I don't feel like being strong anymore
it's hard sometimes in hard times to convince myself its all going to be fine
when it's all so rough
the friction distills
strains.
kills.
it's troublesome still
to not have a place to rest my anxious head.
to rely on a God whom I can't feel
nor touch
even though I know you're there
it's troublesome still.
because I need some sort of touch
a stroke
so as to leave a coded memory
embroidered on my skin
as a constant reminder that
I am
in fact
not alone.

is there a way for someone to get close to me
without me hurting them?
I'm a series of traps in a maze plotted by my flaws and insecurities.

i'm afraid of the dullness
the unspectacular scares me more than any cancer
more than any mortal wound
that thouest couldest ever inflict upon thine flesh
because it's telling me that i am not doing something to live life to the fullest.
it means that at some point, I made a decision that lead me to experience the dullness
the dark side of experience
and I don't know what to do in those moments
in those dreadful
never ending
frictionally enhanced
time stand still stanced
moments
i can choose to do something else where I'm truly "living"
or i can wallow in the mellow and live dangerously in imaginations sleeping quarters.
i'm such a rebel.
but there's no room for resting in the dormant ticks
that's the time for the treadmill
or rather the spinning wheel
for this hamster of a brain
to start running in circles
always leading me to think the same things
"i should be doing something more productive"
at which point lack of discipline
motivation
and my love for self loathing all barge in
wielding several large knives
and hold the poor little creature hostage
if only I could afford better locks...

the day i became a man
was not when i started growing hair on my face,
(though, you can never go wrong with a plentiful beard)
was not when i kissed a girl for the first time
(sad attempts at beards make for even more sad attempts at first kisses)
was not when i got a car
(never happened)
was not when i bought a house
(hasn't happened either)
nor the day i have a kid
(although it will significantly increase my manhood levels)
nor the day i start my career and begin making buttloads of money
(never going to happen)
it most definitely wasn't when i decided to bottle my feelings up,
because men don't show feeling
(this poor guy is cursed with emotions that make decisions for themselves)

no, the day i became a man
was when i realized that i had something to offer the world
it was when i realized that i'm not on this earth to take
and be selfish
or to get famous
or make lots of money
or be successful
no, my badge of manhood was earned when i came to the conclusion
that i don't need your ****** versions of what a man really is
to understand
who this man
really is

it was earned when i
stopped
trying
to earn it
and decided
to start learning
and caring
and loving
the responsibility of a mortgage is not on my shoulders
the responsibility of the world is
(and there's no other way i would rather have it)

"Write a poem"
those three words are all it takes
and before I know it
everything i've ever known
all that i've ever experienced
is wretched from inside of me
and taped (clumsily)
aligned (crookedly)
and stapled (loosely)
to this signpost we call hellopoetry
maybe someone will notice
most will pass it by
but little do they know that it's not my words that are dripping with angst on the pole
it's me
because my words are me
they filter through my brain, my gut
my love, my hate, my biases, prejudices, hurts, scars, fears,
ideas, thoughts, hopes, dreams and most definitely
most importantly
my heart

so remember as you read these words
and their words
you're not just reading poems
you're not just glancing at some scribbles on a page
slopped together to mean nothing
and consumed,
like a 50 cent burger at a diner.
you're reading expression
true, raw, human, expression
and you need to pay attention
because that expression
can sometimes
but more often then not
mean everything.

it's been something I've believed since the day I saw the light
the light that shines on every one's face
that shines through the acne or scars
the birth marks or bars
that everyone is beautiful
regardless of what titles theyve been given
I know you've all heard it before
or maybe you haven't
either way you need to know
that you are not what you're told
whether that be garbage, or gold
you need only one title to call yourself
that's human
that's living
breathing
and with a heart aimed somewhere past your past
you have the potential to be great
but only when you realize that you're strongest in your weakness
when you see that the road less travelled
is less trampled
beaten
because people weren't stepped on
walked all over
they carried each other
held each other up
the road less traveled isn't easier
in fact, it's rockier
sharper
steeper
and you're most likely going to get hurt
you're going to gain some scars
because the road less traveled was pioneered by forgiveness
and i don't want you to think that it's easy
because it's not
i don't want you to think it's simple
because it's not
i want you to know it's right
so do the hardest thing tonight
and forgive yourself
so that you can start down the road less traveled
called beauty

i see you've got a life
here I've got mine too
fold them in together
wishes do come true
then soon but some say later
i saw my coin fall
ripple in the water
and wishes i wished i never wished
wished above all hope
gave too much away
the things that mattered most
not within myself
but crashing on your coast
hoping for the latter
the former never came
leaving spinning clay
all but only fame
so i picked at each stitch
with my teeth clenched grit
still catching on my shirt
i'm bare, cold out of wit
just naked, wet and wishing once again
that coin would wish toward
a less broken, barren end.

Some of us still wish.
For greatness
For love
for even a sliver of stability
because lately it seems things are rockier than The Rolling Stones
its beginning to rattle your bones

Some of us still hold on to those childhood dreams
clinging to them as tightly as you used to cling to that
stuffed fluffy cow,
or that green plastic dinosaur.
hoping one day it would come to life
and wisk you away
to where dreams never died
and mothers and fathers never lied
when they promised
til death do us part

they never parted,
or died.
but something inside them did

Some of us still wish.
that one day we can go back to those days
when our biggest worry
was finding just the right stairs
being sure they didn't creak
so we could go drink beer
and play truth or dare

but most of us just wish
that we could live
and be happy
and live lovely
and love lively,
wildly
and untamed
until the day we die
unlike our parents
wearing the world like the tide
exploring the moons darkened sides

yeah, some of us still wish.
but there's a few that simply...
do.

People want real.
People want tangible.
They want something they can see
not something that's been construed into its own language
filtered through your typical middle class white
and mixed in with struggleless anticipation of "just desserts"
which is a milkshake rejected by the general populace because its smell accurately represents how atrocious it is for your health
not to mention it stains your teeth a bright white
that never seems to go away
until you stop drinking it.
the biggest danger is that tends to make people think they never need to brush
its the leading cause of tooth decay
and bad breathe
things don't tend to smell good when they're rotting on the inside.

What do I really want?
I'll need some time to think
but in the meantime
let me inform you
that your sunglasses turn me off.
they haunt me with images of Lady Gaga
and if you're anything like her
I say nuh-uh.
You spend too much time painting your nails
checking your phone
and looking for sales.
Now, don't get me wrong,
I'm not saying looking nice is wrong
trust me
i notice
but i need someone with their priorities straight
not someone who regularly takes a picture of their plate.
and I don't want to just sit there and stare into your eyes
saying they're a teardrop from the moon
trying to get you to swoon.
your eyes could be the most beautiful things i've ever seen
but that means **** to me when you're a material queen.
instead, while we gaze into each other's eyes
i'll probably pick your nose
stick it in your ear
or wipe it on your clothes

i need someone who understands
that life is really about where we've been
where we're going
and most definitely
about taking the scenic route
because if our eyes are the windows to our souls
that's where I'll be looking when we grow old
and i'll see all our memories
not the cancer
the spots
or crippling disease.
because age may wrinkle our skin,
and time pass us like wind
what's truly important
is what's within.
Just like wine
we'll only get better in time.
so lets make those memories
lets scrape our knees
really feel the breeze
and please please please
remember that we can stay young if we just act a little dumb.
remember these mountains we climb would take less time
if we hold each other's hands
and intertwine.
that way,
whether we make it to the top
or life pulls us down
we'll be together.
my love.
my crown.

some days I feel fit for life
a real contender in the race for...
whatever the goal is.
the vacancy sign is buzzing on my forehead
trying to remember what i'm supposed to never forget
but too often i always forget.
obviously today is not a fit day
today is not a day that goes down in the histories of
elegant thoughts or grandeur revelations
flagrancy has its consistency basting at the bottom of my spine
who knew thoughts like this could still be mine
****.
i'm not supposed to think things like that

if i were projected onto a screen
mindful of the electrical patterns governing
where exactly my eyes have been hovering
the views expressed do not reflect the views of Jeff's heart
please, avert thine eyes and let go of your pride
if only it were that easy.

you ask as if I truly see
what comes from pure emotion
what depths of unencumbered breathe
the movements of the ocean.
not often captured on our screens
it's cast into the air
not often seen because we're scared
but don't deny its there.
it burrows deep inside your mind
and captures every thought
spinning swift into its web
then out comes bitters rot.
so cleanse thee tongue in silver splints
removing wood from thee
so each word, each phrase have linings true
to hearts among the sea.

it's so late
you've dimmed the dashboard
and taken out the key
for air so cold
it's thicker than it should be.

I guess I'm afraid of someone being aware of my flaws
I would prefer that you saw me from afar
and never mentioned when you got close enough
to realize I am not a hero
instead, you should just keep it to yourself
and pretend that the best in me
is all that you see.

"when I don't know what to write
             due to my lack of inspiration -
                              ie. i'm not contemplating the problem of suffering, pain and despair in the world, and wallowing in my own self loathing,
                                     my posts lose significant quality
                  and gain significant satirical substance.
and I intentionally place the lines askew
                                                         to portray a façade of artistry."



*--J.A. Williams, excerpt from "Uninspired, and pure fartswaggle: A collection of unadulterated, barely (occasionally, but mostly not) rhyming poems."

love is not earned,
but learned


*-- J.A. Williams, 6 word.

unrequited love
the hottest product on sale
it'd be flying off the shelves
if it's instructions weren't in braille
its release date is june 15th
in the year Two thousand, never!
between that time and now
you'll be trying to hold yourself together
ah, but this is business as usual
in the shop of hopeful sorrow
where flowers line up by the dozen
wishing for changes by tomorrow
only to be left out in the cold
drenched by a familiar substance
slightly saltier than rain

but don't fret
no don't worry
we'll open the door a little bit
just to keep you here
to make the lines a little blurry.
don't try to come in though,
we've got to get things in order
so here's a few more flyers
they'll get you a deal or two
so you'll stay at our doorstep
we'll open the doors real soon.

maybe.

i'm pretty tired of this whole finding love thing
i think i'll just quit
i already stopped looking a while ago
hoping she would just find me,
but apparently thats not how its supposed to work.
maybe i'll find her
once i stop trying
but beliefs like that come from the same hollywood discount ******* bin
as fate, love at first sight and true soul mates.
seems like everyone buys from it, hoping to get a deal
but i think I'll pass
i want something real.
so rather than wait
i think im just going to throw hopes into the wind
and pray they come back around some day
and carry you on by.

what began
words
what started?
a song
before and after
its still going
you just stopped listening
you just stopped caring
wrinkled in your skin
curled in your toes
yet, nicely stacked in rows
you're walking by them
gently swathing branches
but you won't take your chances
no, never take a chance
because the song is too quiet
you have to listen to hear it
but when you do
it never leaves you
because you realize it's been there all along.
yeah, it's up to you to hear the song

"it’s all good."

*— J.A. Williams, excerpt from “Things poets never say”

it was just a quick little jab
nothing to worry about
an inner flesh wound
that's slightly more inner than my flesh
and mostly more bitter
because it's so fresh
but just leave me be
i can handle myself
you go ahead
but grab my tele from the shelf

i have a call to make
to my past self