Sofia Paderes: Favorites

Nov 2014 Sofia Paderes

brooke

telling you I loved you
was with each hair on
my head, one at a time
when your hands picked
them up on edge with all
of your static electricity
and saying it sounded
like a rush of water from
the creeks below Snoqualmie
or the heavy winds through
the pines, so I traced the
sounds out on your
shoulders and ate
each letter so I
could press them
to your ears, spelled
out the shapes and made
a home for you in between
my collar bones, a cabin on
top of my lungs with the
lights always on, from
out on the plains you
could see it, the books
on the shelves read

I love you.

(c) Brooke Otto 2014

Nov 2014 Sofia Paderes

On How To Wait.

Nov 2014 Sofia Paderes

brooke

On How To Wait.

you eat a lot of cucumbers.

at first you only slice them,
but then you're cutting them
in half, in quarters. You eat
them with carrots, no carrots,
with lemon pepper and salt.
You eat them in your room
with hot tea boiled to 150
degrees, in the kitchen
at the counter staring
out the window, at
the dining table
at the patterns
on the hard-
wood floor.
Is that real wood?
It could be. That doesn't
really matter. You put too
much salt on these. And
sometimes in the tub
you crouch down
and study the
curtains with
an unbridled
amount of curiosity
because you need to be
deep about at least something
but mostly you just realize that
your legs are bruised and your
cuticles sting because you bite
them so often. This water could be hotter.

This water could be hotter.

(c) Brooke Otto 2014.

On Waiting.

Nov 2014 Sofia Paderes

Both Ends.

Nov 2014 Sofia Paderes

brooke

Both Ends.

Hey. Listen.

Can you hear me breathing?
my thoughts are in piano notes
I'm thinking up a symphony of
you. It snowed yesterday and
I wondered where you were---
not in any needy kind of
way, just a curious kind of
way. Can you hear me breathing?
it sounds dense and collected, my
bike spokes click in time with your
watch because there could be years
between us but there could also be
days or hours. If you would believe
it, I can feel you on windy days
when your readiness is something
to be desired. But so much of the same
can be said for me, s o m u c h o f t h e s a m e
because maybe it was never me waiting on you

but y o u waiting on me.

(c) Brooke Otto 2014

Nov 2014 Sofia Paderes

Depression vs. Jesus

Nov 2014 Sofia Paderes

Hannah Turner

Depression vs. Jesus

Depression doesn't like it. He doesn't like when I smile, or accidentally crack a laugh. Rather, he likes when I take him on as my full identity.
He loves when I weep from the loneliness, when I curse God for making me this way, when I slit my wrists to feel something, anything besides the numbness. When I daydream about my funeral. He feeds and grows strength off my tears, he makes himself home in the crevices of my empty heart. He seeks to destroy.

Jesus doesn't like it. He doesn't like when I'm sitting alone on my bathroom floor with a handful of pills, or when I can't breath at night because the tears have stopped me up. Rather, he likes when I take him on as my full identity. He loves the way my face lights up at shooting stars or a beautiful sunset, he adores the sound of my laugh, he loves how music is the way we communicate, he loves when I worship him, and he loves to love me.

And he is stronger. And unlike depression, he doesn't need to gain strength. He himself is strength and the battle is already won. O Death where is your victory? O death where is your sting? For my savior is risen and he has redeemed.

i will make it through tonight.