"The moment we are open to feel our feelings, freedom is knocking on our door."

"Every single negative feeling is the non-acceptance of what is."

here I am sitting in my car and the sun is hot through the window
at 7 in the morning it dries out my lungs, ricocheting off the nearest alien
vehicle, here we are forgetting that we are not I
(and here I am pretending I am we), the sun increases
the pace of my breathing, who is the sun? they ask
with little care or knowledge of who I am, and we forget, ******
that we are not the sun (and here the sun is pretending it is you)
and my steering wheel is sticky and there's a mark on the floor
I can't remember what from (and here I am pretending I was there)
listening to this **** song I can't get out of my head
and it's not the one the sun thinks and it's not the sweat dripping down my shirt
and it's not the ******* car next to me, either
yet I can't forget, (and here I am pretending to remember.)

sometimes you look at yourself and your life and wonder
will it always be this way?
but when you sit back and think about it
no, the answer is no, the world changes
and God graces, and people forget
it won't always be this way
so maybe treasure your heartbreak
it's special, it means something
and it's worth it, all of it, even the ache.

if only there was unlimited time
to stare in other peoples' eyes
and read books, and drink tea
and sleep, and lie and steal and cheat
eventually tell the truth on your knees
but there's not unlimited time
because one day, soon, we will die
and please, please, please
don't forget what you mean to say
and who you mean to be.

when it's through, it's through
fate will twist the both of you

"Some truths rise slowly,
that we are what we wait for,
and what waits for us."

history is in the eyes of people that have touched your heart

I've been looking at the stars for a long long time
I've been putting out fires all my life
everybody wants a flame, but they don't wanna get burned.

"All will be well. All will be well. All manner of things will be exceedingly well.”

"God’s love is just as messy as the rain. He tends to soak us to the bone at the times we least expect it. It causes confusion and alters our plans. It can be freezing or warm, thunderous or soft. But it never leaves us crisp, neat, and dry. There is a temptation to pull out our spiritual umbrellas and hold off the downpour rather than get drenched. My physical umbrella may get dusty under my bed, but my spiritual umbrella is rarely far from my hip. God’s thunderstorms are scary.

And so my prayer today is that one day we will forget the word “umbrella.” We will splash in the puddles, play in the snow, and sweat in the heat. We will acknowledge rain and love for what they are: wet. And given that knowledge, we will happily go get soaked, and maybe even pretend to be airplanes."

"Very few things symbolize Camp Marymount quite as well as a rainstorm. There is no way to stay dry, no way to hold yourself back. Everything is a bright, vivid, intense flood, honest and soaked to the bone. It pours over everything until all of the layers are drenched."

can you tell that I'm alive?
Let me prove it to you.

don't know where I'm running but I know how to run
'cause running's the thing I've always done
don't know what I'm doing but I know what I've done
I'm a hungry heart, I'm a loaded gun.

"Don," she began. "Do you find me attractive?"
Gene told me the next day that I got it wrong. But he was not in a taxi, after an evening of total sensory overload, with the most beautiful woman in the world. I believed I did well. I detected the trick question. I wanted Rosie to like me, and I remembered her passionate statement about men treating women as objects. She was testing to see if I saw her as an object or as a person. Obviously the correct answer was the latter.

‘I haven’t really noticed,’ I told the most beautiful woman in the world.

I have a bad feeling

that's the joy of being a Catholic
knowing that whatever happens in the world
whatever doubts and heartbreaks and busyness
and confusion and loss and joys, even

that what the angels sing with you,
and the sacrifice of the Mass, and God
there, sitting on the table-
is more important than anything else.

That it's all you need.
That we will say Mass until the sky falls
and then we will say Mass in heaven.
That it's the most important thing we can ever,
and will ever, do. It means everything.
And we are nothing without it.

One day, I will write down all the words you ever said to me
and make a poem, the type of poem that causes saints and kings
to look down from heaven and wish they were here to witness
the kind of love we had- one day.
You'll read what I have to say and you will bite back your tongue.
You had no idea how hard I worked to win your heart. You won.
(and how often the glint in your eyes seemed gold
and how close we were, and how far.) One day,
when we're both old, you'll remember the spring in my step
because you were watching me and I knew.
One day, the whole world will know.
One day, you will too.
One day, when the skies have closed and opened
and God has decreed something different
then the words will flow from my pen
and I will see you again.

and sometimes, you have to find a reason to wake up in the morning
that isn't another person- and maybe it will be again, one day,
but not that morning (and not that person)- for that morning,
you have to wake yourself up. you don't have to
give up on the hope of having a different set of eyes
to dream about, but you have to give up on seeing them again
sometimes you can't. Sometimes you won't.

girls love girls and boys
and love is not a choice

to the rest of the world, clouds of fog conceal the everyday
drives, the laughter, the kisses even
and maybe that's what makes a writer different-
our worlds are not pierced by rays of light shredding the darkness
our worlds are made of light, made of clarity,
and so, when it comes time to speak the truth
to finally say out loud what they were both thinking
it comes as no surprise, not a shock, no huge change
because we've seen it the whole time.

writers convey the essence of things
which, when it gets down to it,
is as much how it "really" is as the basic facts of the matter
the facts don't tell the whole story- maybe her pulse
increased, but what matters is the smell of magic in the air
the stairway to heaven she saw, standing near that ladder
she was remembering, and the sizzling electricity in her hair
and maybe it wasn't really there, but in the end, does it matter?
does she care?

"history might not repeat itself, but it rhymes."

if we're pretending from the start,
like this, with a tight grip,

"The reality, I realize, is that I am not the only member unworthy of Cross and Canoe. None of us are worthy. Cross and Canoe is an impossible standard. I live and work among amazing people in the summer, but not a one of us is perfect. I see their flaws as well as their great virtues.

The paint, the disguise, if you will, is an outward sign that we march as symbols of an ideal, not as that ideal ourselves. We represent something that our bare skin and usual attire, our true selves, are not worthy of. For the brief duration of the fire, we will symbolize something that we are not. Something that we can only aspire to."

when it rains, and the car moves
it is clear where it did not rain
where the car caught the rain is not
where the concrete caught the rain
to see the difference, one must
move their car- and it is painfully
obvious that something, once there,
is no longer- and everyone knows.

how did we all get so lucky?

if, at the end of the line,
I'm throwing everything I am out the window
I'm expecting someone to catch me
and if they don't, then I fall even harder, even further.

My heart, your heart
sit tight like book ends
pages between us, written with no end
so many words we're not saying
don't wanna wait til it's gone.

with our minds and eyes skimming far over the oceans, picking up sprays
we find that while we go places, we see the same waves
and the same fish, occasionally leaping-
if we take the time to slow down and dive beneath
we would realize how much we are missing.

everyone, no matter how ****** up, deserves a friend
and deserves to feel at peace with someone

and I'm standing alone in a crowded room

"A mind can make a hell of heaven and a heaven of hell."

what does it mean to matter to someone
and what does it mean when you've known them for so long
you can't wipe them off of your heart
and they'll always be there
their name repeats in whispers and when you're about to fall asleep
on your left hand, and in the eyes of others
so that when you see them, even if you are lost and you don't know where you stand
you see home in their eyes and you know the skies have planned for the two of you
to exist maybe not together, but to always be tethered
like a string, spinning with two weights, and when they come close
it's a terrifying crash and you leave again, but when you see her again
she's there, and no one will ever make you feel like she does
and no one will ever stay beside you like she does
because no one is who she is
and no one is who you are
and in a whole universe of people who think they've fallen in love
you know the truth: only you know what love is.
Only she has ever loved you.

"She's the person with whom I have promised to stay forever and we love each other beyond all reason or hope of salvation."

it is of utmost importance
to not be afraid of yourself.

breakeven (n.)

the point at which cost and income are equal and there is neither profit nor loss; also :  a financial result reflecting neither profit nor loss

nothing to stop the finality of aging,
of never getting it back.

our lives are a hundred years long
filled with quiet nights, lonely hearts, and 'if only's
filled also with roads and shouts and "you are the best friends I've ever had"
too, we too are not alone, and our lives
are a hundred years long.

true love meets in the sea, and, drifting, stays afloat.

The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away
and sometimes, no matter how we grieve for what we lose
it's gone.

the light at the end of the tunnel is constantly being chased
maybe it's not the light that matters, but who you become
while you're running.

ideas about appearance do not lead to growth
ideas about growth lead to growth

stop wasting your time trying to make a brand out of yourself
and start spending your time doing things and making a difference

it's not about how you're viewed, it's about what you do.

I finally found the reason why I can't sleep
I was thinking too little of the world
and too much of me.

I don't need my love, you can take it, you can take it
I don't need my heart, you can wreck it, you can break it

let the goodness of it consume you
don't be afraid to set yourself on fire
because the world needs people who exude heat and light
to cast out the darkness once and for all.

when you use all of your water on one plant,
you drown it.

when you've been torn apart, the pieces of yourself will settle
into whatever mold you give them.
Make a good one.