Dear Pianist
The writer wrote
I drove to California on my own to try to get myself sad enough to write a new album
I prayed and prayed for a salve that would heal the pain in my heart
Once the wounds held together, I ripped the stitching apart seeing the blood flow from the stitching like it were a cavalry of demons in retreat, promising to leave me alone
They are liars
It’s like the Lord answered all of my prayers and I want my questions back
To search for ways, despite his grace and get my old gods back
Dear I cant pretend that I didn’t thrive off of the emptiness that I felt inside before the spirit invaded the void
Just like I asked him to, and shared with all of you
I stepped out the front door and tossed up my keys to find myself in a closet
Stuffed with all my insecurities and all the things that I’m ashamed of and every broken memory that I keep to cut my wrists
So be at vain or be at pity well I know that I still bleed and I keep the shards of mirrored glass to see my expression as I seep out onto the carpet and stain my bare feet, in a puddle that I’ll drown in 8 quarts deep. The release is never as satisfying as the promise to fix what’s been sewn.
We got bottled up like the alcohol gets bottled up and then we bottle it up in us, and I search for ways to define myself by some skeptical lack of trust, because if I can’t trust in anything, then I’m not to blame for my lack of movement, and I can abuse everyone’s pity, and I can convolute it.
When I was a little girl, my daddy told me to unclench my fists hold out my hands flat like this and pray
Like a picture of letting the Lord take my fears away but he forgot to loosen his grip when it came time to practice it, and the thought got convoluted the day he went away
I drove alone along the Western coast to try to write a poem someone could relate to I reopened every wound and bled myself dry just to try to feel the same way that I used to.
I drove past the city at night with the windows down to watch the lights and get so cold that I’m uncomfortable
You know I do it to myself
These headphones could be playing something else but we’re at the bottom of everything like the songwriter sings
And I make myself shiver until I bleed
I know every word to every song about despair, and I keep the albums on repeat to keep me there
At the cross of Christ I know that despair has been removed, that it drowns beneath the crushing weight of hope as found in you.
Will I always fall asleep to dreams of mending up my wounds, then wake to spend the day reliving every bruise for the sake of a sad song, or the sound of sweet repose.
He hit that first note and that note set me free
Well I fell in love with his sadness before he fell in love with me
But the best letters are the ones written in tears that smear the ink so he played the keys and I started writing
I wrapped that sorrow up tight like a noose around my neck, stood tall on a flimsy card table and kicked it out from underneath my legs
And I’ve been hanging in a house of cards for months on end, swinging back and forth beneath the creaking rafters with the winds everywhere
I always forgot to close the windows so that I could let in the cold knowing discomfort and disappointment were the only peace I’d ever know
I had excuse upon excuse for every broken bone, but in the end I broke them all myself to give the pain a home
Dear Pianist
I’ll love you more than you’ll ever know
I swear your smile saved my life
I swear you touch made me whole
But there is not an end to the self-condemning lies I have believed
And there is no depth that I have not known in an attempt to drown myself or set myself free to the point of pushing you away from me.
I drove the country on my own in an attempt to break my heart and I opened my heart to every fleeting hope in an attempt to fall apart
He said we fall apart and into our gods but God meets us where we are
What a thought to live a life that’s free but we are such a self-destructive bunch aren’t we
Writer you are a part of me and there is nothing you can do to set to flame the fabric that has woven me to you
I will not be your broken heart and I will not be your empty oath look with our hands laid flat in surrender I swear that we will both let go of the chains that choke us, that wrap their hands around our throats.
As blood flows and puddles to cover every self-inflicted bruise, ****** becomes salvation, the resurrected truth.
And I will play you a new song
And the lyrics that you wrote will accompany the melody and every word he spoke was a land of milk and honey that I thought I’d never know
I drove to Washington on my own to sorrow in the rain
But we danced over every puddle, and joy washed the pain away
And it road down and out beyond the pungent sound, out beyond its shores to a whisper beyond the horizons
With The cross of Christ I know that the bonds of sin are broken, that they bar the gates of hell for me and heaven's doors are open as wide as my sweet Savior's arms were stretched out when He died.
Love has defeated death with a life for me to hope in.
To be forgotten and thought of no more
This is a poem by Levi the Poet, my favorite poet of all time. I preformed it for a competition so it has been rewritten in some areas. It also has snippets of his poem Resentment in it to make it longer, but it's still powerful.