I like the color of your sweater and the stripes on your sleeves and I especially like how the ends fray and the gray looks more like milk than it does a rainy day sky or a weatherbeaten road.

2. The reason I stepped back was not because you smelled funny, or that I was shocked to find you there, but because the air condition was hitting me right on the shoulders and I left my red sweater at home.

3. Okay, so maybe I was a bit shocked at finding you there; it’s just that you’re the first one who’s ever bothered lingering at the poetry section besides me, and I’m not good with surprises; in fact, I hate surprises.

4. But you’re a good kind of surprise.

5. I like your glasses. I used to have a pair just like them before someone removed them and told me that I should learn to see differently. Things have been kind of unclear since then, but I’m learning how to hold onto the side rails.

6. I hope you’ll let me remove yours, too.

7. Your hair looks like a bird’s nest. I wonder if you’re hiding life or pieces of green bottle in there. That’s a lovely shade of brown, by the way. I’ve never seen chocolate curls before.

8. Do you think that if a pine wants to, it will grow until its branches poke holes in the sky for stars and pinecones to fall out so we can catch them in our palms and compare who got the most scratches and who caught the most stardust?

9. The book you picked up happens to be my favorite. If you turn to page 118 you’ll find a poem about churning seas, angry thunderclouds, and a drifting boat that lost its sail.

10. I think I finally found my sail.

Every time I look you in the eye, I see thunderclouds. Yes, your laugh is silver bells on a spring day and your smile could have caused Mona Lisa to grin all the way in, but they’re right. Your eyes are the behind the scenes and your body is a movie. I don’t enjoy watching movies.

2. I can’t keep up with the storyline. Chapters fifteen and sixteen were about homecomings, and now the main character’s digging his own grave again. You never explained to me how he went from dancing in the moonlight to rubbing ash on his head, just when I thought we were getting already to the ******.

3. The wounds are reopening. I thought you knew better than to pick at the stitches.

4. Your heart must be handcuffed to mine. I feel it every time you hurt, every time you pull, every time you cry out and ask God, “Why?” The only difference is that every inch you move away is a sucker punch in my gut. I’ve never had a high tolerance for pain.

5. Do you know how many poems I’ve written about you? Try walking outside at night and count every street lamp from here to the opposite side of the sea. My words burn too, but they never seem to be bright enough for you to see. You’re still tripping in broad daylight.

6. I’m tired of standing behind you.

7. Hope is an anchor, but I’m starting to drown.

8. Sometimes I scream in frustration because the seeds are taking too long to grow. It’s so easy to forget that they will. It’s even easier to forget that I’m not the savior. But I try to be, so I’m putting down this yoke, little by little.

9. Seeds do grow and their trees make enough rings to tell stories to last generations.

10. I heard in a song that love alone is worth the fight. Maybe I’ll continue this battle long enough for you to see that we’ve already won this war, so that the next time I look at you in the eye, I’ll see the northern lights.

at 5:45 am I
exhale shadows, rub ravens
from my eyes

light floods
demons flee
I am awakened

by morning's new mercies.

Before I found love,
I didn't know any better.

Before I found love,
I didn't understand what love was.
What love is.

Before I found love,
I fell.
I fell into a bottomless, empty, dark
Chasm.
A ditch I myself had dug up
With a *****, bent spoon.

Before I found love,
I would lie in bed.
But I was never alone.
I didn't want to.
I had to.

No, I wanted to.
I needed to.
There was something
Addicting
About the strong arms of another.

I couldn't stop myself
From constantly wanting.
From always needing.
From giving up everything.

Before I found love,
I thought I had love.
But all I had were eyes filled with dust,
A ***** spirit,
And a heart full of lust.
I thought I was in love.
But I was in lust.

Always wanting, never giving
Always receiving, never blessing
Impatient,
Cruel,
Jealous,
Proud,
Selfish love.

And not to mention, my hands were sore,
Bruised,
Broken,
And ugly
From the never-ending routine of
Digging myself deeper and
Deeper and deeper
And deeper into my chasm.

I was judged,
Misunderstood,
And tortured.

It came to a point where
People started throwing stones
And words.
They threw them as hard as they could.
They threw them at me as if their lives
Depended on hitting that target.
And let me tell you,
Their aim was fantastic.

Before I found love,
Love found me.
Found me lying on the ground.
Found me in ripped clothes,
Found me with a battered flesh,
And a bleeding heart.
Love looked deep into my eyes.
No, Love's look went past my eyes.
Love peered into my very soul,
My inmost being,
My heart of hearts.

Love could tell by my
Bloodshot eyes
And broken body,
That I had been anything but
Beautiful
Lately.

Love pierced my heart
And saw every shortcoming
Every failing
Every flaw and imperfection
I had.

Love saw my past,
And it didn't seem to matter.

Love looked at me,
Really looked at me,
and said to me
That I wasn't guilty.
And Love pulled me
Out of my chasm.

Love walked away.
And amazed me.
Love loved me before I loved Love,
And Love loved me while
I was still in that chasm.

Love pulled me out,
And sealed it so that I
Would never fall into that chasm again.

I followed Love,
One night,
And poured a sweet smelling
Perfume--- the best kind
On Love's feet.
And kissed them.

Hair undone.
Face tear-stained.
Love wiped everything away.
My past.
My wrongs.
My old life.

I looked deep into Love's eyes,
and heard Love say,
“She has done
A beautiful thing
To me.”

A beautiful thing.

A beautiful thing.

I did it for Love.

Don't
fall in love with her.
For you will both crash
and I promise, you will burn, for

She is the girl with too many wounds
the ones even an ocean of your love can't heal.
She is the girl with scars on her knees
because she tried taking leaps of faith far too many times,
waiting for someone to catch her
but they never did.

She is the girl who will never be with you
even if she is holding your hand
and your fingers are wrapped around her shoulders
and her neck is resting on your chest for
she will always be atop an asteroid
trying to catch moon-tears
because she knows that the moon weeps for her.

She is the girl who won't tell you she loves you
even if you tell her a hundred times and look at her
with all the longing you can muster
because she knows how words can be.
Some words
are only said to fill in the empty silence.

She is the girl who is hard to dance with
because she refuses to be led across the dance floor
she's already been led,
many, many times
and she always ended up
with floor burns, scrapes and sprains.

She is the girl with pimples
not enough to cover her face
but enough to let you know how far into the night she stays awake
writing poetry about 'you'
she's written so many poems about 'you'
because her hands won't stop moving
her mind won't stop weaving and I promise,
you wouldn't want her to write about you.

She is the girl with broken, dead bones
the girl who's seen too many deserts
climbed too many mountains
but she never reached the top or
came to the end of the endless stretch of yellow, but
she can tell you a lot about oases.

So before you even think
of falling in love with her, I warn you,
don't.
Do whatever else you want just
don't
fall in love


with me.

all your mistakes are now mine, all
your mistakes are now mine, all your
mistakes are now mine, all your mistakes
are now mine, all your mistakes are
now mine, all your mistakes are now
mine, all your mistakes are now mine

all
your mistakes
are now

**mine.

He hates sunrise
because the lovely pale glow of each ray
is a beautiful dagger pointed straight at his heart
the tip an inch away
from drawing the life out of him
you are the life in him
and he hates you so.

He hates anchors
because they don’t let
even the biggest ships glide along the waters as they please
and you don’t let him glide along as he pleases
you are his anchor
and he hates you so.

He hates the wind
because without it
he would have no direction
no strength to move on
you are
and you aren’t his wind
and he hates you so.

I have watched him
sail the hardest seas
cut through the roughest waters
brave the wildest winds
but you…
he doesn’t know how to deal
with the pain of missing you.

the years have turned gray your thickets
tangled your vines, shaken your roots
you've made many a home in your glen
shadows surrounding, shadows keeping.
tell me how it feels to be pulled out
into the clearing, to have the sun
light leaves enough to bring veins
to the surface, revealing, revealing

does this scare you?

to see marks on a once empty map
footprints in the soil
thorns on the ground
and a nest being built.

tell me, does this scare you?

We speak the same tongue.
I have never seen eyes move the way yours does
they dance
almost as well as you do.
With every step, every flick of your wrist, you
tear through barriers with your eyes and that corner of your mouth that
overflows with joy everlasting.

as you lay in the mountain pass
breaths in heavy, choking gasps
trees bleeding
restless, reckless head throbbing
tell me


who did you see?

Woman, you have the backbone of an earth
and a faith that Abraham would have marvelled at.
You walk and you follow with your eyes above ground,
your feet leave imprints of peace.
Woman, you laugh at the sun
You bathe in rays that scorch because you know
That pain only lasts through the night.

she slips in silently
seeking sanctuary, and
every step is a prayer.

step.
father, forgive me for I have sinned.
step.
father, forgive me for I have...
step.
deaf god, dead god.

too many horizons hold his heart
he is hardened and headstrong, yet
every step is a prayer.

right.
father? forgive me for?
left.
father, forgive me for...
right.
deaf god, dead god.

we won't wake to weeping
walking with our veils pulled tight
over eyes, and we know it. maybe
every step is a prayer.

clack.
father, forgive me.
thump.
father, forgive --
creak.
father?
stop.
do you hear me?
one.
deaf god
stomp.
dead god
three.
father?
do you hear me?

He was a lost wanderer
With nothing but
A restless heart and
Empty hands.

Couldn't find any safe shelter,
Headed nowhere
On a way-less road.

Always a running fugitive
With no goal at hand
Sick of soaring through the skies
With no place to land
He cried,

"Pick me up,
Dust me off,
Put me on the right track
Don't want to roam
Like a misguided reflection
Of a soul-less apparition.
Let me arrive!"

There were no signs,
No pointing arrows
Showing him where he was meant to go

Stuck in the endless,
Empty cycle.
Trapped inside
His own shadow

"Give me something,
I need something.
Give me a purpose,
A reason,
A destination...

Let me arrive."

I'd like to think otherwise
but this ship is aimlessly afloat,
maybe her sails do whip higher
and her anchor does cast deeper
but when being stretched both ways
where does that leave her?

Port and starboard
have never looked more the same
but this ship is still starbound,
still hopes to anchor herself to the moon,
still keeps her crow's nest
a little weatherbeaten, but with better navigation
more aimless than she'd like, but still afloat
not sure where she's going, but still she runs
never seen it before, but she knows it's North
oh, she knows. now she knows.

Be careful
of what is put into
the white pail.
Watch out for
marbles,
pins, and
tacks.
Unwanted wanted
trinkets.
Needed yet unneeded.
Opposite, indeed.
Watch your fingers,
because sometimes,
band-aids aren't enough
to stop the bleeding.
You'll need a doctor
to do that.
But first,
get rid of
that junk
in your
white pail.



I'm certain
that the doctor
will do just that.
All you need to do
is to hand him the pail,
so he can fish out
the nasty things
and keep you safe
from harm.
Hand him the pail,
and he'll return it
to you empty.
But
he will fill it up
again,
I promise you.
He will fill it
with goodies
and more band-aids
just in case you
dump nails and
pencil shavings



into your white
pail again.
Just hand it over
to the
doctor,
and he'll
gladly empty
and refill
that pail
again.

her small arms hold back storms,
but there come days that
no weatherman can tell of.
some days she bathes the earth
gently, colors cool, sharp, clean
some days her soft taps become
claws on your windowsill, your branches
bending over the weight of her downpour,
of all that she is, not drizzle, not shower,
all of her.

and she wonders if you
are okay with sometimes gray, if you
have a raincoat on hand, if you
will still be standing there in her aftermath.

if not,
she will tell you it’s fine
she will make sure you stay safe and dry,
and she just might build you a shelter
(without you realizing)
you will sit under its roof
looking out the glass doors
smiling as her torrents fall, thinking oh
how well you know her

fshooooo

whispering wind

lazy leaves


hmmm

sighing sun

buzzing bees


shhhh

roots relaxing

bored branches


click clack*

toes tapping

blowing breeze

Note To Self:*

If the world were to end tomorrow, today would just be today. Lunch would just be lunch, depending which day, the sun would rise and the sun would set and I would probably be leaving a lot of things unsaid, because how am I supposed to know the world is going to end tomorrow?

If the world were to end tomorrow, I would leave the idea of tomorrow to gather dust ‘till the sun’s fingers came to pluck it from my grasp, and I would not mind letting it go.

For if the world were to end tomorrow, tomorrow would be the most beautiful thing to ever happen to this world since God first sang, “Let there be light.”

And there was light. And tomorrow, again.



Things To Do:

1. Cook some hot, sticky rice for breakfast. These little legs of mine will be needing all the energy they can get for some spontaneous visits and last attempts at trying to save the child who dug his own grave and is now standing at its mouth asking himself if this is what heaven looks like.

2. Make my way to the resting place of the one I loved the most.
Smile. I don’t know if it would be wide or not.
Leave a note in green ink —
“See you soon.”
Hug the stone angel that used to give you comfort when you had just lost your mother.
Hum a hymn on my way out.
Leave the gate unlocked.
Let the street children pour in.

3. Run back to the walls placed in my path,
dance around seven times while singing psalms
until they fell
if
they fell
or maybe I would stumble around seven times
while crying and screaming mercy
until they fell
if
they fell.

4. Love harder. Carry around words of fire, vomiting flames of spirit and life to keep the virgins’ lamps burning, remind them that their groom is returning, He just needs to make sure that everything will be pure in time for their vows, and they need to remember that death is not the final destination, but only the beginning of a new journey in which everywhere you go, your car window view is a valley of dry bones coming back to life, and if still they refuse to listen, I will only love them harder.

5. Pretend as if I’m dying then whisper stories of hope into the ear of the kind stranger that kneels down to help me. For some people only listen when shouts have become echoes.

6. Ask around for directions and instructions on how to finish off this list I am making. Take the hands of whoever has the right answers or of whoever has at least one of the same on their sheet of paper, run to any place we can call shelter and sing praises. Quietly. Loudly. Sing with nasal tones and chest tones and head tones, sing until our lungs collapse beneath us, sing like our shakey notes can pierce the darkness, sing like the moon is still shining and the sun isn’t darkened and all the stars haven’t yet fallen, sing until we see glory bleeding from the sky and

7. Weep with gladness. For here comes God singing for the second time,

“Let there be light.”

And there was light. And today, again.

leaves falling, dancing.

red and gold dresses adorn

but soon comes the fade

I miss the boy who sells fruit in a place where people say no good comes out of. I miss his shorts that look like fields ripe with harvest and his ocean of a t-shirt.

I miss his little mop of wavy black hair, his green eyes that become crystals in the sunlight and deepen in its absence.

Is your name Garik? Or is it Garo? Or am I getting you mixed up with someone else? I may have forgotten the symbols for which represent you but I will never forget what made you you to me, here:

Your smile as wide as the watermelons you sell. Your heart warmer than the strong coffee your mother makes. Your scrawny legs that always made their way a little closer to me no matter what time of the day it was and your voice that crossed oceans with a melody that sang "We are here."

And we were.

We were two people-- you of pomegranates and fresh sunflower seeds and I of mangoes and mangosteens, two entirely different shades of earth, you with your snow flakes and I with my sun rays, you with your black robed monks and I with my white clothed priests, yet there we were.

Oh brave little boy, I love how different doesn’t scare you.

My slanted eyes did not seem strange you, nor did you question why my skin looks like the browned sides of baked bread compared to the floury white of your arms. You did not find it funny that I must be at least five years older than you are yet must be at least half a head shorter. It did not matter to you that the only words we had to give each other in the same tongue were “Hello!”, “How are you?”, “What is your name?”, “Where are you from?” because sometimes those words are all it takes to make your way into someone’s heart and stay.

As for mine, stay you did. Language, cultural, socio-economic barriers were nothing to you.

Instead, you simply played the boy who wanted to know the girl. And so I played the girl who responded, the girl who saw the boy's clouds of smoke in the sky spelling out "We are here.”

And we were.

And it’s been three months.

Now you are there.

And I am here.

But to you, it's the other way around. Because here is a matter of who is telling the story. Maybe we will never again be characters in the same chapter. Or maybe we will be. And maybe I am counting the pages until for us, here is right where we both are.

It’s not just on sunny days that I thank the saltwaters for washing you ashore. But it was sunny that day I was walking barefoot on the beach, thinking it all looks the same.

Sun. Sand. Sky. Sea.

But then,
I saw you.

It could have been anyone else. Do you realize how much you look like the rest from afar? But in my eyes, the light seemed to only bounce off you. I could have walked on, but for some reason I stopped. And I’m glad I did stop. Long enough to pick you up, long enough to feel every rise and every fall, long enough to run my fingers over all the places sand somehow found its way into, all the edges, sharp and rough, that sometimes hurt the hands that hold you, and you sometimes hurt me but

Don’t wish to be washed away just because you have.

I know you wonder why on earth you’re still ashore. I know you love the sun, but sometimes its rays cast too much shadows that whisper darkened daydreams of blue embraces, and you’ve tried resting in its arms once or twice. I know you get tired of the ocean and how the waters break against your back day after day, but know that each time they do, a piece of your past chips off. A bit of weakness is made strong. The ocean is shaping you and it isn’t done with you just yet.

Don’t forget this.

I hope that you don’t see yourself as leftovers. Who hasn’t had someone leave them before? You are more than something that was left behind. You are not its ghost. There is beauty in the way you’ve kept your shell, in the way you still hold against the currents, in the way you refuse to let wind and weather steal your colors. But maybe you don’t know it. Or maybe you’ve been waiting for another pair of eyes and hands to see it for you.

But I see it. I do. I’m not the perfect pair of eyes and hands, but I hope you’ll let me help you make it through.

There are still so many sunny days we’ve yet to walk in.

Slippery,

Delicate,

Wanting.


These were the words that came out of your mouth.


Full of desire,

Hushed whispers,

Strange, yet

Familiar

Were your words.


Confused,

Comforted,

Naive.


That was me.


That was me.


Before I realized exactly who

Was planting those words so deceiving

Into my mind that was wandering far.


But then, you lost.

For He spoke Words into me, too.


Words that brought life.

Words that healed.

Words that promised.


Words

Unlike

Your words.


I scoff at you, coward.

At you and your poisoned, polished lies.

At you and your twisted symphonies.

At you and the empty oaths that once held me, fast.


I scoff at you.

Some days I can't write
I won't write. takes
too much heart
too much sacrifice
too much sorting through places of  my mind
I swore I'd let alone, leave be

let me be
leave me be
alone

then,
no.
Fight. Alone is dangerous

alone is an open door
alone is locking yourself in with a dragon
so I will pick up first,
my heart
then my courage
then my fingers

though cut up
and open
bleeding rivers

I will then pick up my pen
and write.

there is still so much more I need to tell you.

Beloved,
lay down your arms, and
come run back into Mine instead.
There is no need for you
to fight this battle on your own, when
I’m here, and

I love you.

Before the kingdoms and golden cities,
before the earthquakes and the hailstorms,
before the stars knew their hymns
and the planets their dance,
I loved you.

Beloved,
I made you
to love you.

Let that sink in and resonate in your heart
like a steady, low drum.
I made you
to love you.
I made you
to love you.
I made you
to love you,
because

What good is the universe
in all its splendor and colors
to which names have not yet been given,
what good are the heavens and the seas,
the skyscraping mountains and lowest valleys,
what good is anything in all creation that was and will be
if you
are not there
for Me
to love?

So I formed you.
I patterned your image after Mine,
I took dust and spoke life
to create a beautiful, beautiful you, and the
reason you love is because
I first loved you.
Love is what stitched you together, beloved,
and that Love
runs deeper than any ocean or river, because even
on that worst day,
the day you fell,
the day you told me that
My love wasn’t good enough
that I
wasn’t good enough,
I loved you.
I never left your side even
when you were in sun scorched lands
and your hands
were bleeding from the fruitless labor of
trying to get
to where I am,
you never had to earn my affection or my
consideration, I was
thinking of you
the entire
time, because for Me,
Heaven
wouldn’t be heaven
without you in it.

So I came.
I pursued you
even if it meant watching My beloved
scream false accusations and spitting lies
at My face
even if it meant having nails and thorns
driven into My flesh
even if it meant facing death, but
I overcame it
for you
I took the blame
for you
I carried all the crosses you have and will ever carry
for you
I tore the veil and shook the earth
for you, because I
love
you.

Beloved,
My love
is stronger
than anything
you will ever encounter, and
this is the same Love that
courses through your veins, and so the same
strength that enables you
to receive power
to receive healing
to receive victory in My name.

Beloved,
fear not.

Don’t call me that.

You--

Don’t deserve anything.
Are worthless.
Impure.
Weak.
Everything I put my hand to is kissed by death,
I was meant for no more but failure.
I can’t do anything.
I can’t do.
I can’t.
I--

Lies.
I crucified all that.
You are--

still the same and always will be!
Despite what You did
I keep going back
back
back
My love for You is like
the morning mist,
like flowers that soon wither,
like shores that always,
no matter how strong the tide,
push the waves away,
and I am ashamed.
I am only man.

And I am God.

But—

I am God.

But—

I am God.

Beloved,
take life and death
angels and demons
the present and the future
the highest of heights and the darkest of depths
take every power and everything else you could possibly imagine,
and they still wouldn’t be
even close to a fraction enough to separating you
from My love.

You are right.
You don’t deserve it,
but I love you anyway.
Since the beginning of time,
all you’ve done is pursue everyone and
everything else but Me,
but I love you anyway.
You’ve done nothing but fall short,
but My love carries you past that, beloved.
You are Mine.
Let Me be yours.

You are Mine. I am Yours.
I am yours. You are mine.
You are chosen. I am chosen.
You are My child. I am Your child.
I will never leave you. You will never leave me.
My love for you knows no end. Your love for me knows no end.
Heaven and earth will pass away but, Heaven and earth will pass away but,
I will stay the same. You will stay the same.

Beloved,
why
are you so
afraid?

I’m not anymore.

I have overcome. You have overcome.
You have overcome. I have overcome.
The war has already been won. The war has already been won.

I love you. I love You.
I love you. I love You.
I love you. *I love You.

the ripe, red fruit he used to pick

from the tree in,

the garden he loved.



i remember.



his eyes.

still.

appearing lost

but

always watching me

from the distance.



i remember.



his smile.

no words.

just

the constant flashing of

a row of not-quite white teeth.

like unpolished pearls.

but pearls all the same.



i remember.



his old chess board.

and,

the way.

he

moved.

each.

piece.



i remember.



his hearty laugh,

when a joke was told,

or

when he just wanted

me to feel

loved.



i remember.



the way his body

looked.

before he turned into

ashes.



i remember.



when he was still breathing,

when he was still walking,

ever so slowly.



i remember.



the tears i shed,

my heart that bled,

when she told me he

had gone away,

never.

to.

come back.

again.



i remember.

let me be
let me be like
a tree
always blossoming
never dropping a leaf

let me be
let me be like
a tree
firmly rooted
unshaken by the wind

drinking in sunshine
soaking up rain
branches bearing fresh fruit
each and every day

no matter what the weather
or how hard the blow
You keep me standing stronger
even in the cold

We were born into this world
Naked
Weak
Afraid
Cold
Starving
Crying
In need of saving
Don't you dare lie
Because you know it's the truth

We were born into this world
Unable to do anything
Alone
Hearts cold as stone
Barely even human
Wrapped in evil
Sinking in
Breathing in
Drowning in
Living in
Sin
And you know it's the truth.

We were born into this world
Falling short
Of the glory
And surely
Living but not alive
Seeing with closed eyes
Not knowing
Not even wanting
What we were truly needing

Healing from a healer
Love from a lover
Life from a reviver

Saving
From a savior.

Because if you look into
The deepest part of your soul
You will find
A child.
A broken, bleeding child
In need of rescue.

Because no matter what you say
No matter what you do
No matter what you think
Don't lie
Because you know it's the truth.
Child,
You don't know your hero
And heck,
You act like you don't need your hero
But, child,
Your hero already bled for you.

boy in blue
awkward you
sitting there
hunchbacked in your wooden chair
not speaking
just watching
feet shuffling in your gray slippers
speak.
tell me your story.
tell me about your sister
i know her
but i don’t know you
loosen those strings
tell me about
the times you weren’t
a boy in blue
awkward you
speak.
tell me your story.
i’m listening.

on wooden planks,
murmurs turn into movement
a tangible, silk rhythm
where the mute find their voice
in leaps and spins
in the brush of a heel
in between kneecaps
i am a little more me
and a little less She

They say it depends where you're from
as long as you don't miss the meat,
(sometimes I prefer pork)
soy sauce and vinegar,
garlic (as much as you can peel)
bay leaves (a couple, maybe) and
peppercorns.

They like to tell me where I'm from
as long as they smell the added sugar,
the occasional potatoes, the mix of
chicken and pork. And through my teeth,
I tell them that there is nothing that different
about me.

Over breakfast
we read the letter we wrote you
I was shaking and he
looked at me with the eyes of a child
the strong one
the Protector
he looked at me with the eyes of a child
he said,
"I never want to get over her."
Me too, Dad.

Me too.

Years ago, this would have been fine --
coming face to face with the dark, damp places
my own messes embedded in between tiles
the little dirt lines and pockmark-shaped stains
stark against the cool white floor.
But here I am now, with one too many thoughts
and not enough time. All I have is an hour,
a brush, some cleaner,
to scrub this grimy self-portrait away.

Cold, metal claws clenched bleeding wrists

Injustice.

Weather beaten faces groaned under

The leather snake’s bite.

Injustice.


Reaching out with bony hands,

But slapped away by stronger arms,

Injustice.

Freedom gone, hope dim, shadows creep in and stay,

Long gone justice was.


I tried searching for it, though.

Every nook and cranny,

Every inch of my stone, cold cell.

Even the cobwebs and spiders.

No trace of justice on them,

No trace at all.


They say every scar has a story,

To tell.

Does this spell justice?

Freedom?


To own nothing?

Not even my own body?

To cry out for help but,

Knowing deep in my soul,

That none will ever come.


A living corpse so starved,

I am just a skeleton,

With a thin blanket of flesh,

Knotted and sewn tight ‘round my bones.


I am chained.

Body, soul, and spirit.

Struggling.

Falling.

With no strength to get back up,

And you call this justice.

“you have a purpose,”

he whispers gently to me.

his love means the world.

do not let the
      scorching and searing
                                    the
      burning and blistering


                      the
           slow sawing and
                      the
           bough breaking

          
                      turn your roots
                
                                   upward,
away from the
                                   waters.

Di niyo ba alam
na nang pasimula ay nilikha ng Diyos
ang langit at ang lupa?
Na ang mundong ito'y
Kanyang binigyan ng hugis at anyo
gamit lamang ang mga salitang
dumaan sa Kanyang bibig?
Na nung sinabi Niyang, "Magkaroon ng liwanag!"
Nagkaroon nga.

Di niyo ba alam
na kaya Niyang humarang
sa agos ng dagat,
ipaawit ang mga bituin,
ipaluhod ang bulubundukin?

Di niyo ba alam
na ang kapangyarihan na ito,
ang kapangyarihang ginamit Niya
para ibuo ang mga planeta,
ang kapangyarihang ginamit Niya
para tigilan ang pag-akyat ng buwan
nung lumalaban sina Joshua,
ang kapangyarihang ginamit Niya
para bigyan muli ng buhay ang yumao
ay nasa
atin
din?

Ito
ang Kanyang pangako:
Na tayo'y binigyan ng kapangyarihang
tapakan ang mga ahas at ang lahat ng kapangyarihan
ng ating kaaway

Di
niyo ba
alam na
may kapangyarihan sa pagsamba
sa Kanya?

Di niyo ba alam
na nung ikapitong ikot
sa ikapitong araw,
mga trumpeta at boses ng Kanyang mga anak
ang ginamit ng Diyos para ibagsak ang Jerico?

Sumigaw na tayo sapagkat
nasa atin na ang tagumpay
Sumigaw na tayo sapagkat
sa Kanyang pangalan ang pag-asa ng mundo
sa Kanyang pangalan,
lumiliwanag ang dilim
sa Kanyang pangalan,
lahat ng takot ay nadadaig

Sambahin natin ang Panginoon
ng buong galak
ng buong puso
nanginginig at mga demonyo
sa pangalan ni Hesus
tumutumba ang mga harang ng impyerno
sa pangalan ni Hesus

Tayo'y magkaisa,
itaas ang mga kamay
tayo'y magkaisa,
itaas ang iyong boses gaya ng mga trumpeta
tayo'y magkaisa

Sambahin natin ang Diyos na buhay,
ang Diyos na dakila!

fear is like a heavy mist

a flower-choking ****.

a huge brick wall,

a pair of shackles,

the unknown waters.


fear is the red light,

the barrier only faith can break.

fear is poison,

the “do not” sign.


but the only “do not”

you should not not

is

.

.

.

fear

a sudden slip
a gradual fall
did i see this coming?
not at all

don't slide too far
don't let go
break free from the dark
you're not alone

stretch out your hand
open your eyes
else soon they'll dance
to your demise

why do you
delight in gray
in things so worthless
they'll soon decay

why are you
conforming now
don't act of here
you're of the Crown

before you take
another step
search your heart
leave the depths

remember the Love
that brought you here
remember the promises
and do not fear

hold on to what is
strong and true
have faith, and trust
you'll find Him, too

Maybe I would have
been able to keep you
if you had been a lake.
Waters whisked by wind,
softly stirred in its sleeping
faint scent of flowers following
wafting, over my head, hovering.
Nothing to resurface. Your skin,
salt-and-pepper hair, veins
peeping from your wrists, squeaking
yellow rubber slippers, small mouth
taking sips of turmeric tea, all that I
remember, embraced by the waters.
Embraced.
Embraced.
Embraced.
For always.

But your heart has always been the sea.
So there's nothing I can do to stop how you
are more saltwater than I'd like, or how your
comings and goings are more waves than streams.

Still, I'd rather have you
crash over me sometimes than never,
swallowing me whole.
Stinging my sight.
Leaving my lungs
gasping for air,
just as long as you don't
drift too far for my feet to follow.

I've got a ring
a string
of keys on the table
I've got
gold keys and black keys
silver keys and rusty keys
round keys and square keys
I've got
everything I know I need
I thought I need
I think I need?
I've got
every key which I got
through every, any
means, but
why won't your heart open to any of these?

Remember that boy?
With a chemical smile?
That boy who lived
With each beat of
That patched-up thing he called a heart?


Remember that boy?
That boy who sold himself
For a price
That wasn't worth even a millionth of him?


That boy who pretended.
That boy who lied,
Cried,
And died.


That boy was birthed again.
He accepted the gift of grace
And
Went running into open arms.


Remember that boy?
Remember Ralph?


He came back home.
He's in Love now.
Everything's beautiful.

When I was sketching this afternoon,
my strokes seemed unsure
and my lines were all wrong and
I realized some things about you.

The reason your fingers
always seem to be slipping
every time you try to catch a
handful of waterfall
is because once upon a time
the rocks that your soles were planted on
crumbled.

You used to be a deer,
the way you stood on new heights
and how you looked on
with a steady eye, so
when was it that you decided
one more step was too much for you to climb?

The burying must stop.
It has been proven time and time again
that no matter
how deep a grave is dug,
the flowers will give the bones away.

I don't understand why you
confuse seawater with fresh, because
I know that you've already stuck out your tongue
and tasted the sweetness of real freshwater
or have you?

You are dust
walking in deep shadows
where I cannot find you.
I have only a candle
and my words, but I will wait.
After all, in the beginning,
something beautiful was made from dust
and from a word
sprung a world.

And lastly I realized that
I hope that you someday read this poem
and we will sit together in the afternoon sun
and you will listen to the sound of new things
as I sketch with sure strokes
and just the right lines.