Because after everything you did
All the fights
And all the insults
All the broken promises
And all the lies
All the short retorts
And all the K's
I still love you

For nine months you carried me;
Through hell, hurt, and hunger,
You carried me willingly.
And in the heat of July
You put me down,
And never carried me again.

My Beautiful Savior has rescue me from the death that I deserve.
I am a sinner whom failed him, I allow my brokenness to come between us.
His love for us is beautiful, his Love for us his people is Great.
He died a wretched death filled with our worldly sins to save us.
The Cross is beautiful, it is a symbol of freedom from sins and death.
He rose up from death to give us everlasting life with him in heaven.
He came to the earth to die and live again to give us true Hope.
He saved us, he lives to bring us out of rebelliousness with the Father .
My Beautiful Savior came here to save us from a death that we deserve.

The trees begin to remind me of the skeletons in my closet

The sky seems to reflect the melancholia in my mind

The wind feels as comforting as an ice bath in February

The ground is as hard as the ice around my heart

The snowflakes are as fragile as my voice when I talk about it...

The icicles imitate my tears as they fall and freeze simultaneously

The moon becomes the only source of light that I can stand

And
This glove takes the place of your warm, soft hand

I hate how my dreams about you are always good.
I hate waking up from them.
I hate waking up.

Dear little free bird,
Where have you gone?
It has been far too long
And we all miss your sweet little songs.

Dear little lost bird,
Your wings are clipped
Your feathers stripped
You've cut off the remainders of your wings
So sing, little bird, sing
And scream, little bird, scream
Feel free to bleed
If it's the only way you have left to dream.

Dear little caged bird,
You are weighed down
By the shackles on your feet
And these iron bars of the cage they keep you in
Have all but killed you
So write, little bird, write
It's all you have left.

Rose to a rose
I pick up a flower one day on a walk.
It stood there all a lone.
A pretty flower indeed.
A rose in was red in color.
Then I was thinking about any other flower she too was a rose.
Hair is so red that you would think the sky sets it a fire.
A rose for a rose I did consider. What a pretty way to say
I love you my rose.