my life is not beautiful.
it just is and that is enough.
refraining from falling
into the hopelessness I've created,
that prison of my own manufacture.

I put water over the stove
and sit in this carcass
while I myself,
a cadaver if you will,
wait for it to complace me.

the lost dreams and
suspires wander these walls
that have trapped
every abandoned hope hides
behind these eternal furniture.

how am I supposed
to thread beautifully with
all this weight? my arms
are full, with bruises and plates;
***** plates I carry on
from door to door before
running away holding more.

should I drop, let them shatter?
is it cowardice, or care for the self?
my friend has said they
are no different.

to know there is no expectation present
you mustn't know what an expectation is.
so, do you, my friend?
the flies on the still life
are agreeing with us.

do you allow them dictate
that which is beautiful, why,
when they haven't got a feeling?

do you allow me dictate
that which isn't?
tell me beauty's antonym
and I'll teach you to survive

between humans and the flies
that peck at the remains
of what once lost I retrieved,
and corrupted it came back.

on my floors the plates stay shattered
my soles bleed on every step
on the edge of hopelessness.

it is not for us; romantics,
sinners of massacre, thieves of all kinds.

lives cannot be made beautiful,
yet you found beauty in its lack.
I wanted encouragement yet only found courage—
to write, grieve, and die.

In all my paralyzing confusion, only one thing is needed; in all my anxiety over my much less than ideal circumstances, only one thing is needed; in all my this-is-so-unfair discouragement, only one thing is needed; in my pressing-down-like-a-boulder-on-my-chest grief, only one thing is needed; in my feels-like-my-insides-are-being-scraped-out sorrow, only one thing is needed; in my falling-apart-at-every-seam life, only one thing is needed; in my can’t-seem-to-muster-the-will-to-get-out-of-bed depression, only one thing is needed; in my sure-I’m-finally-going-crazy state of mind, only one thing is needed; in my so-mad-I’ve-got-to-throw-and-break-something anger, only one thing is needed. In the scorning and tormenting face of rejection or betrayal or failure or devastating news or disfiguring disease or the worst fears of my heart coming to pass, only one thing is needed—to come and sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to what He is saying.

To entrust myself to Him, to acknowledge His presence with me, to submit myself to His perfect authority over me, to just look at Him and recognize His all-surpassing worth, to feast on Him, to wait for Him to speak and know that He longs to do so more than I long to hear it, to meditate on His Word and speak it back to Him both in praise and request and to ask Him exactly what it means for me right now, to be ready to respond to Him in obedience and follow him wherever or however He leads, to be willing to tune out every competing voice no matter how well-intentioned and to say “No!” to whatever He has not called me to, to believe that He cares deeply and passionately for me both in His emotion toward me and in His personal tending of me, to see that the details of my life matter even more to Him than they do to me and that He holds every one of them in His hands and is perfectly directing them for intimacy and glory, to refuse to be drawn away or worried or upset by the many preparations and distractions all around me by casting every burden down before Him and taking up His all-sufficient grace for every need, and above all to want Him more than anything and to let everything else fit into that all-pervasive desire—this is the ONE THING that is needed both now and throughout every season of my life, and if I will choose it, it will not be taken from me. It is the one thing worth fighting to the death for and will, no doubt, require just such a dying again and again and again...

Whatever I touch, I break, so I don't even touch
Wherever I shine, I fake, my shadow tells too much
However I try to proceed, I sink in too deep
Whomever I call love, never we share a good sleep

Every moment collapses, leaving us blindly
I hold on to my senses, singns of my body
I wear however the wounds of my soul
Questions of origin, others and all

Reliance on feelings have thought me to judge
Listening to voices have brought me through grudge
Counting on numbers have led me to withdraw
Looking at features have dreamed up just plain law

I wander and wonder, why I can't do the math
Why these thoughts ponder and don't take a bath
Sometimes I share a free passion to make
But most of the times those act like headache

Here am I reflecting, dissecting my wows
Wishing and cursing on different nows
Clocking and measuring where there shall be strength,
Courage and willpower does not care about length

As quickly as it was,
the diamond shattered,
misunderstanding,
accidental and
simple mis-branding,
life paints me fragile,
and my song of songs
becomes a song for sorrow,
and poor standing.

Trying to understand why
my genuineness is always mistaken,
for slyness or demanding.

Say a prayer for the sparrows,
for the ones who fall and the Father sees,
say a prayer they return safely
at night, to their homes
in the trees.

-Dm 2017

I had a light in me
It shone so bright that people could see what was inside
I talked about things that I loved religiously
And I clearly knew what I wanted to do

I did not give two *****
About what anyone thought of my work
Until I found myself wanting recognition
I asked people to tell me what was good and what was bad

I saw no wrong in that
Neither did they
Until I realized that I craved for compliments
I craved the praise

It was not for bad intentions
I wanted to get better
I wanted to be heard
I wanted the world to know me

But slowly, I became obsessed
I started relying on people
I relied on them to tell me my work is good
While I no longer believed in myself

The more they told me it was not good enough;
That I was not good enough
My light started to dim
And discouragement was staring me right in the face

I spent so long minding what everyone else thought of me
That I forgot the reason I was doing what I was doing
I listened to what everybody wanted me to do
I pushed aside the things that I wanted to do for myself