Words written centuries before my name was imagined,
When they think of my name, I’m labeled with these words,
Ideas invented long before my first breath,
I follow the ideas with every breath.

But is it real or just some silly fairytale?

They say my book is rooted in hate,
When read in context, I find love,
But the followers always seem to discriminate,
Are the followers denying the one above,
Or am I living a lie?

Gay marriage,
Women’s rights,
Human slavery.

In the ancient text,
I find confusion about the great debates,
Is our culture wrong,
Or does my way support hate?

Every single day I search for answers,
I beg for truth,
But nothing changes,
I find nothing new.

Can I speak to the author of my handbook,
Or must I keep chasing the wind?

Reciting bible verses empty as my soul
Pulpit preaching lacking evidence
Words without action
Love abandoned

I want a dad not a ******* preacher.

Feeling is such a silly word.

I listened to a sad song a few minutes ago,
With the musician's words, my emotions flipped,
My focus shifted to tragic things.

No more than two minutes later,
She sent me a picture of a silly face,
Suddenly, my feelings changed.
Half smile, scrunched nose, eyes closed,
She made me laugh.

The simplest things can impact how I feel,
But very few can affect who I am,
Feelings aren't all that important.

I've felt many ways throughout my journey,
Blissful happiness,
Broken-hearted grief,
Innocent joy,
Painful rejection,
Passionate affection,
Suicidal misery,
Overwhelming peace,
I have felt many things.

I used to let these define me,
But as my state of mind altered,
I blew with the wind.
Feelings can no longer describe who I am.

How am I feeling, at this exact moment, you ask?
I am happy,
I am sad,
I am scared,
I am nervous,
I am curious,
I am restless,
I am alone,
But I am content.

I like the sound
Of glass hitting the floor.
The sound of the broken vase
As I carelessly throw it out the door.

Because it reminds me…
It reminds me that I’m not the only
Broken thing in this world.
It reminds me that
Just because I’m shattered,
I’m not alone.

It gives me hope.

Where I find true hope,
Is in the potter.
The vase I threw out the door,
It had to have been made
By someone right?
And that someone must have cared.

They put their time,
Their sweat,
Maybe even their blood,
Into creating it.
But the greatest thing,
They put their love into making it.

It was a piece of dirt,
Or more accurately a lump of clay.
But the potter,
He saw so much more.
He saw beauty,
When all else saw dirt.
So he molded it,
Into something of worth.

He crafted this lump of clay,
Into a beautiful work of art.
Simply because he loved it,
With ALL of his heart.

I destroyed what was created,
But can it not be fixed?
If dirt can become beauty,
Can broken beauty be repaired?

If I return the shattered vase
To the creator,
Will he care?
He could fix it.
So cannot my creator
Pull me out of my despair?

I like the sound,
Of Glass hitting the floor,
Because it reminds me,
That even if I’m completely shattered,
I can be healed.
It reminds me that
My brokenness isn’t life.
It reminds me that
There is so much more
Than the broken glass on my floor.

Why do we adventure?
Because we are

I adventure
Because I am
I adventure
Simply because
I exist

Without adventure
Life is worthless

Hours,
Days,
Months,
They pass by,
And I am left alone.

I am alone,
Even in the largest crowd,
I am alone,
Because you aren’t by my side,
I am alone.

The tears fall,
The brokenness appears,
The pain rises,
Because you are not by my side.

I want to know you’re beside me,
I long to gaze into your eyes,
I need to feel your arms around me.

Day and night,
I dream of our past,
Of our present,
And of our future,
I dream of when we reunite,
Of when we’re finally together.

I love you,
Deeply,
Passionately,
Intimately,
I love you.

With all of my heart,
I love you.
With all of my mind,
I love you.
But mostly,
I love you,
With all of my soul.

When we are together,
I am complete.
When we are together,
I am whole.

Church
A place we call sacred
Though it is far from holy
Plagued by the lying,
Fake, judgmental, deceptive, wannabe,
Overly religious, ignorant, bigot, crazy,
Hypocritical curse upon society known
As Christian

A place said to be filled with love
So sadly love is not the first thing seen
Rather, we feel the ever-watching eye
Looking down because our clothes don’t
Seem as clean, our shoes are not free
From dust, our scars, they bring disgust

But not all who walk these golden
Streets of Christianity bring hate
Some do not raise their head so high

These few who know love
This minority who is actually true
They are the church

Even though these phony haters
Infiltrate the lovers’ ranks
They are not Christian
They are not the church
They’re nothing but arrogant imposters
And close-minded fools

A tree must bear fruit to be a fruit tree
Likewise a Christian must bring forth
Faith and hope and love
They must bear their fruit
Otherwise these Christians
Are not so Christian after all

So remember, the church is this group of
People who love, not the building
Filled who those who destruct