I have not written a poem in awhile
That is out of my ordinary style
Lately I seem to be happy
Just to pray and smile
This is quite fine
I know my Father has an ultimate
Purpose for me
It may seem as if it is changing
Constantly, it is for others to see
His existence through me
To become a fanner bee
To pray for others
In a world filled with sin
Closer to Our Father
I pray, my prayers,
will bring them
A starting point
To open the door for
The healing to begin
Our Father begot His Son
Easter is rememberence
That through our Savior
Christ Jesus resurrection
Our lives have just begun
A blessing Jesus left with us
The Holy Spirit to guide everyday
If we open our hearts and eyes
We will see His light
In amazing ways.
HAPPY GOOD FRIDAY
ENJOY EASTER BLESSINGS EVERYDAY

If you crossed her and I in the halls you'd never think...
never once would it cross your mind that she is indeed not sick.
You all make assumptions.
Often wrong.
Yes, it is true her head is bare.
No, she is not dying.
No, she doesn't do it to revolt against people.
She doesn't do it to stand out.
No, absolutely no, it does not concern you or affect the quality of your life any.
Before you judge a person.
Before you give her your condolences.
Think...
just take a moment to think.
It doesn't involve you.
If you don't know ask.
Don't assume.

Her body is a patient maze of understanding
Devine calypso music inside broken hip bones which chatter as ice in warm glasses of tropical **** do
It is useless to call out her name
Someone once told me
If evening comes tomorrow then this day is over yesterday
Never knew anything I couldn't read first
Someone said
You got to let her go
And we all laughed because the rooms are empty and the streets are flooded and no one comes down
This way anymore
Because of the way the moon howls at every thing crossing north and screams red at the south things
And the stars all rush to meet us

I'm an empty vessel,
A reflection of you in me,
Clear the fog that's my mind,
Then it's your eyes you'll see.

I let the water pass through,
Erase the memories I once had,
So I can no longer taste nostalgia,
Only the salt and it makes me go mad.

I used to write and I used to read,
But now I'm an empty vessel,
I drink in the waves you surf,
and spit them in a sandcastle.

And quick to drown me is the sun,
Recruiting the days against me,
They string me along for weeks,
The longer the day, the less air to breathe.

I'm an empty vessel, so transparent,
I let the wall have a more powerful image,
Disappearing into the landscapes,
So my unwelcomed thoughts will be omitted.

It's your eyes you'll see,
Cause for god knows how long
I'm closing mine.
I shall dwell inside this empty vessel,
If you glimpse a sight of me
Just make make a sign.

The glimmer of light
skimming upon ripples
is so bright
I squint
trying to capture
its sparkling life,
to absorb its nature
and bare witness
while it yet exist,
before it slips
away
like a passing love
you would die to save.

You showed me some things
About my heart; it could melt
But it could break too

The years of tye dye,
and silky straight hair,
of stupidity,
and insecurity fears,
of pro Ana scares,
and late night dares.
The years of coffee,
and menthol cigarettes,
anything to keep
the dial on the scale
from moving forward.
I remember those years
crystal clear,
girls wandering the halls,
books in hand,
feet dragging behind them,
bodies moving,
with vacant eyes,
and soulless attitudes.
I was one of those girls too.
I wandered the halls,
like a ghost trapped between
two halves of tainted glass.
I was dead inside,
consumed by insecurities
that hovered around me like flies.
It was hard
to be a girl.
It was hard
to walk those halls
with shame carved in
to porcelain skin,
to walk those halls
with eyes reading
the canvas of my skin,
the story written
between showing ribs.
It was torture,
to starve with a smile
shining on my face like gold,
but so many of us did it.
It was sink or swim.
It was four years
of brutal judgement
by peers hiding
behind blue screens.
It was four years
of petty remarks,
each one a pin poked
straight through the heart.
It was 1,460 days
of crying on the bathroom floor,
of starving just to make
the pain go away,
of chances for someone
to tell you
it was going to be okay,
eventually.
I remember those years.
I remember thinking
the pain was never
going to go away,
and even after
I left that place,
it didn't go away,
not completely.
It just got easier
to wake up each morning,
knowing I didn't
have to walk the halls
with all those eyes,
watching,
waiting for my demise.
It got easier to live,
to remember what it meant
to love who I am.
It got easier to recover,
to eat without feeling,
like I only deserve hunger.
It just got easier,
because high school is torture.
It's not worth it
to let it take over,
to let their words
linger in my ears
like a crack of deafening thunder.
It's not worth it
to be afraid of their thunder,
because I am lightening.
I hold the power.
I'll burn bright,
and make them
run for shelter.

sitting at mcdonald's
on the free wifi
sipping sweet tea
and reading
all the offerings here

a cold chill
bent me over

and I thought of
the new cold war
that threatens to ignite

and somewhere
comes the idea
that someone
is walking on my grave

it could well be