My roots grew deeper
Than I found comfortable
But now I can fly.

The opposite of kind-of.
Not to be mistaken with fake.
Is similar to real.
Something I am embracing.
Authentic.
Not just a version of a carefully crafted story.
Life in the raw.
I crave to be–
Actually me.

There comes a point in life when
no compromise seems too large if it
dulls the ache of
being alone.

There comes a moment in growth when
memories are deceptive and lure us
back to seasons of
embittering pain.

There comes a fork in the road that
forces us to choose whether we will
have the freedom of courage or
crippling fear.

There comes a stirring in our soul that
whispers of journeys worth daring because
we have faith that love
rewards the brave.

Sea salt curls
surrendered to breeze
the taste of
freedom.

Counting the chips in my nail polish
Scuffing my sandals against the pavement
Watching the hem of my dress blow in the night breeze

******* in breath for courage
Praying my words come out right
Hearing that final sentence thicken the air

I think this is goodbye.

Waiting for the world to stop its orbit
Marking the seconds of silence
Avoiding your empty eyes

Hugging the warmth of your skin
Wishing we could have belonged
Mourning the smallness of our love

I think I am alone.

I steal a glance and see your
calloused fingers drumming a
careless rhythm on the table
that separates
me
from
you.

I tune my ears and hear your
eager lips pour out a volley  of
empty words into my hungry heart
that separates
me
from
you.

I need to run my hands down your
warm body so that I can ignore this
ache of loneliness
that separates
me
from
you.

You can crawl to Him on your hands and knees.
You can grovel and groan at the feet of the King.
You can scratch at your sin until you bleed.
You can try to pull up the roots of your weeds.
But when, my daughter, will you dance in His grace?
When you will you rise and seek His face?
When will you be washed in the blood of the lamb?
When will you accept the seeds of life from His hands?
Why do you spurn the pain that I bore?
The curse is broke; your freedom for.
Get up and walk; sin no more.

Rage.
Pregnant with fury.
How could the birth be beautiful?
The labor pains are agony.
Knives ripping out my insides.  

Blood.
With your sigh of pleasure, I lose my last drop of life.
My hands are scarlet with shame.
Naked I stand in the night breeze.
Ivory curves and dead eyes.

Sorrow.
Stripped of dignity.
I try to hold my shaking hands still.
I feel unworthy to meet your gaze.
My humiliation haunts me.

Empty.

Change is scary when
it leaves me behind and makes me wonder
if something is wrong with the way things were-or even worse
if there is something wrong with
me.

Change is beautiful when
it invites me into a fresh gust of wind and
pulls me from a world that is stagnant into a land of
endless possibilities and
dreams.

Change was inevitable when
I took my first breath and found that
growing up means nothing stays the same;
this breaks my heart but brings me
hope.  

Change is proof of life
like when a seedling pushes through the ground to
tell the world it can grow
because it has
courage.

I pull the covers over my head to block the sound.
But it is deafening.
Tick, tock. The clock pounds his rhythm inside my head.
Taunting me as seconds of my life whirl by;
He parades my regrets around his circular face.
It drives me mad to hear myself die.
Tick, tock, ti---
I rip out the batteries before I count another lost minute.
It's the closest I can come to stopping time.
I pull the covers over my head.
Please dear God, let me sleep tonight.

Is it not strange and wonderful-
how pain makes beauty richer?
Show me your scars.
Show me your evil.
Show me your sorrow.
Read me the story of your redemption.
I am tired of your perfection.
I am tired of your strength.
Let me love you.

Home reminds me that
Nothing is like family
Our blood remains thick

Home is bittersweet
Mixing new with old is hard
But there is still love

Home delights my soul
The heart of our lives are good
I know I am blessed