I may have never shared with you,
what a wretch I was.
The dependency on drugs,
selling them to my friends,
the unforgivable, explicit activities...
you can guess where I'm going with this.
Then there were the wretched things done to me.
That I did not choose.
And I let them all eat away at my soul.
I let a prison become erected around my heart.
I hired guards.
I took new inmates.
And developed strict programs and policies...
We never allowed visitors at my prison.
I remember laying awake at night crying
more than I remember lovely stories from my childhood.
I remember dreaming happy things would happen that
just
never did.

And then I really met Jesus.
Not in the way I met Him when I was 12 years old.
At 12, He was the promise that I wouldn't burn in Hell.
At 22, He became the man who called me by my very own name and beckoned me into a world full of Light.
And I haven't looked back.
I'm not going to look back, except to tell you how dark it really was.
Because I know what it is to feel death.
I know what it is to stay high every day
because life is unbearable.
I know what it is to believe there is a God,
but not know how to reach Him.
I know what it's like to think you aren't
worth it.

BUT YOU ARE.
You are worth dying for in Jesus' eyes.
Can you picture that?
A man who finally loves everything about you
so much so
that He did everything He could
to set you free.
Now you just have to want it.
You have believe you can be free.
Take a good look at where you are.
Now ask yourself, "Am I truly free?"

If your life is anything like what mine used to be...
you aren't.
My heart is breaking for yours.
I know you are out there.
I know you want freedom.
You have to know,
God wants you to have it
more.

White sheets flutter...
they dance around the room
they whip and crack like storm-kissed sails
I cower in fear, my bed is empty save for pillows.

I rest my head
I'm nearly dead
I ache with dread
I crumble, like abandoned bread
and the table we set
is unwoven by time.
Splinters, like loose thread, pile up as do bones.
We are no longer held together by compassion,
we are butchered by sharp tongues and piercing glares,
for shame! We thought it was a funhouse, but we revel in slaughter.

White sheets flutter...
they wave like sleeping flags
they wave like quaking lands
then they settle and I hear the white sheets whisper
and the whispers haunt me
are they soaked by old lovers
tears like oceans raining into the sky
blood like rivers escaping the bed
bowels of deceit coughing up their secrets
let us drink all this vile bile and be drunken by horrors.

Is that the only way we can escape?

I am in a prison
Prison of my mind
Somebody , help me
Rescue me from myself
My mind love playing games
Have various ways to torture me
It takes me to the depths of emotions
Play with each and every vulnerability
And I do not know how to protect my self

Like many things in life,
Problems occur.
Problems which we are
Meant to learn from.

Like many things in life,
Difficulties arise.
Difficulties that we can
All overcome together.


For better or for worse
the latter is more common,
for worse happens way too often,
the problems we face don't fade.

We live in this prison called life
difficulties arise as we slowly walk
to our demise,we fill our minds
that there are ways we can escape.


The hardships of life
Are only a small part of the
Vivid painting that is life.
We are the complete image.

Though we may have tears,
Rips, piercings, and smudges,
We are still full of wonder and
Our minds are full of light.


**We embrace the order
we border on uniformity
awfully we are digging ourselves
in shelves of debt and depression.

Life is a vivid painting,
staining the realisation that death,
that the last breath taken
and the needless pain is imminent.

Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!
Your campaign crowds so chanted.
You took it in and smugly smiled
while they all railed and ranted.

But lock her up for what? I thought.
She's been investigated.
For alleged conflict of interest,
she has been exculpated.

So if such accusations,
when even proved untrue,
provide sufficient grounds for jail.
They'll have to lock up... You!

A twist of a knot,
inside your skull.
a thought, a feeling.
Not to speak.
Such is the spirit of
the will of the weak.

Dream of an act,
or piston strong words.
Always fertile, never born.
Your struggle is yearning.
Doubt has a habit of
keeping you turning.

In a tryst of not,
still-born sapling.
A Restless dance.
In unending motion,
any action is studied Askance.

This prison is a place where darkness only breeds
and the shadows dance with themselves,
playing tricks on my eyes, darting quickly across the walls
only to vanish upon my focused gaze.

I once caught a glimpse of these hypnotic specters;
cruel machinations of tortured souls revealed themselves
to be nothing more than corrupted reflections of myself
wandering aimlessly through a hall of mirrors.

These rooms were once traversable,
but now this maze is more twisted than my own intentions;
unheeded, unnoticed and smiling, like a knife in the dark
waiting for an opportunity to quell any ambitions
that may lead to freedom.