I’m not good enough to write
this poem. these ******* words
won’t come. here I am, feeling
like a dried **** on the grass—
all hard, white and shriveled
obstinately sitting there, surrounded
by all that lush green.
this resistance is a real *******,
sitting on me like a sumo wrestler,
smiling in its power over me.
looking down on me
and controlling me effortlessly.

“you can’t write poetry,
you’re a nobody.
a real lukewarm leftover special.
no one will ever love you.
no one will ever like you.
no one will ever see you.
no one wants you to succeed.
no one wants to read your poetry.
don’t waste your time doing
something you’ll never be good at.
you’re not good enough.
you’re not strong enough.
someone like you could never
be someone like that.
someone like you could never
do something like that.
someone like her would never
love someone like you.
you’re gross,
nobody wants to look at you.
stay home.
don’t do anything.
don’t even try.
give up.”

I mean, this guy’s got a million
of these bumper stickers
and he slaps them all over
the inside of my car
all day, every day—
that is, when he’s not using
my chest as a seat cushion.
it’s gotten to the point where
I now can’t see out of my windshield.
I just wanna go somewhere
but he won’t let me see
where I’m going.
he won’t stop talking.
I can’t hear the music anymore.
I don’t know where I am.
I can’t breathe.
I just know that this car feels
more like solitary confinement
than freedom and the a/c
stopped working a long time ago.

I think I need to stop the car.
I need to open the door
and step out into the light.
I don’t even need to take
off the bumper stickers,
I think I just need to walk
for a while—
move at my natural rhythm again.
like children do before
we start in on them.
before we start building their car
around them and teaching them
to believe in it.

this is you.
you are this car.
except when you’re alone,
then maybe you can leave
the car but never in public,
never in front of other people.
this car will protect you from
them, from the world—
from yourself.
hide in it.

well, I left my car
on the side of the road
some ways back
with the keys in it
and a full tank of gas.
the door’s open,
take it if you need it.
hell, take it if you want it,
I don’t give a ****—
just don’t try
to pick me up in it
if you ever catch up.

                      signed,
                                 ­ 
                               nobody


P.S. watch out for the fat guy in the diaper.

He drives dreaming,
     smoke writhing between
              gashed fingers keeps the
                                         wheel turning.
                                                  Sometimes,
                                an irresistible light
                     flares its hungry glare
           blinding the only eye
he can see with.
Sometimes,
     he's headlessly drifting,  
               and fears what's sprawled
                                 on the kerb might've
                                                        been him
                                    and when it isn't,
                              he pays a toll
       bound for the high way
black as a solstice night
     riding serpentine
          until he's no longer
                     prey to the break
                                              of day.

What the world sees
and what you think you are presenting
is not what you think it is
when I hear your gears announcing themselves
struggling and winding
slipping between their metal teeth
amplified by your modified tailpipes
I imagine a neanderthal with their sloping brow
and knuckles dragging the ground
getting up each morning late for work
when I hear you change gears from my living room
I wonder what part of you is missing
by your need to announce yourself
through your tailpipe
I want to help you look
the whole world wants to help you look
a mother’s love
to be held and cuddled and told again and again
I hear you
I am so sorry the world didn’t notice you standing there
I think you are just wonderful the way you are
there is no need to puff yourself up to compensate
let me help you find what you are missing
you broken winged butterfly
you lost adorable kitten
let me help you put yourself together again
you forty-five piece porcelain set of chipped china

The push, the pull, the press
One button, two minds, and three words.

Off it goes, it explodes.
No rhyme no reason.

The Thoughtful path, The Thorned path.
Yellow pebbles when looking in,
Where red roses begin to sprout.

The weary step, the feet begin to shake.

The warmth of gold gravel turns to painful pokes.

Treading as it turns to May, more scarlet petals lay.

The one blooming bruise, the two weeks later, and three sleepless nights.

The time it takes to be one place.

-Grace <3

"Are we there yet Mommy?" asked the little child

"Not yet my love. But soon enough you'll see"

"Daddy, are we there yet?" the child asked again

"No. But when we are you'll know it. Trust me"

"It'll be a while yet before we are there
But I'll tell you a secret of which I am aware.
If you pay close attention, sometimes you'll spot
A little bit of home that someone had forgot."

"It happens when two hearts come together
And true love finds a lasting home
Where peace and joy are birds of a feather
Built upon faith's cornerstone."

"It's where life flourishes and children grow
It's where laughter and love so freely flow.
But this is just a taste of what is yet do come:
It is far beyond your wildest dreams and then some."

"One day we will go before you
And leave you for a little while
But later you will join us again
And we'll welcome you with a smile."

"So, you see, for now, home is where we are.
As long as we're a family, Heaven isn't far."

Arrested by God's grace and blinded by His light
Convicted by the Spirit and found dead to rights
You are found guilty of ****** in the first degree
The sentence to be carried out: death on a tree
Justice will be served, and the price must be paid
About to be led away, but the crowds are stayed
By a voice soft and strong: "Let them go. Take me instead."
A perfect stranger was tortured, he suffered and bled
It should have been me on that cross on that hill
But He had plans for me and, to this day, He does still
I had condemned, I had tortured, and I had slain
I felt no remorse, and even enjoyed their pain
But God's love and mercy found me on the road
My life is His now: a life is saved, a life is owed
If God can take a wretch like me and turn my life around
Use me as an example of how much his grace abounds
He humbled me greatly: knocked me off of my horse
And, with a mighty wind, I was forced to alter my course
I am by no means the greatest, rather I am the least
But He bids me rise like dough to His yeast
Through his goodness I have done great things
I have seen the blessings that a grateful heart brings
For it is not I, but Christ that lives within me
I die with him and in rising He sets me free
Glory to Him who sits on the throne
Honor to Him to whom I am intimately known
Praise be on my lips and in my heart
For we have been given a brand new start