You have fallen
so far from grace.
When you look
in the mirror
you can't even recognize
Your own face.

You have become a
living vessel.
A waste of space
locked in your own shuttle.
You are far from settled and
you have fallen
so far from grace.
So far from grace.
**** it.
You don't even want to
see your face.
Too much pain there.
Too much shame there.
You see what you
have become there.
Who are you?
What have you become?
I remember from the darkness
you use to run.
Now you're as still as lumber
And you feel it's linger
When it comes.
You have given into yourself.  
You have given into your demons
Keep giving the light
the ****** *******.
Because further from it
you will fall.

You have fallen.
You have fallen
so far from grace.
When you.
When you look
in the mirror.
You can't even recognize
Your own face.
Your very own face.

You would be a fool
to think that when I look upon you,
my eyes do not gaze into the depths of your soul.
They see the sorrow you've felt,
the pain you've dealt.
All the tears, and fears;
bliss and cheers.
I am not judging you,
simply seeing through,
the mask that you use,
to cover up your bruised
Ego.
Know
Though that I am trying to understand,
your pain felt,
so I can lend a healing hand.
Not trying to leave another welt,
Upon your pristine frame.
For I am blessed to have Christ in my name;
I wish to
heal you
All
the
same.

a light at the end of the tunnel
is the freedom
in the words I type
Where would I be
without the steady click
of my mind laying into the soft
caress of a screen, as for paper
it's insolent and my pen it ran out of ink
The lines I draw, are only in my mind
as I've seemed to have misplace the valley where the dead rest
The tangible object where many of writers have left their soul
The pages where have they gone ?
The smell, and the history, all here in this screen
A bird sits at my window sill as if waiting for me
to deliver some sort of message
she will fly and soar and anyone who lays on her will know
that I couldn't deliver the message I was told to write
I couldn't jump over to the other side
I couldn't make it through the forest without becoming more lost
I didn't try hard enough, I let fear take hold.
I wanted so badly to become
The one,
the one you all need,
but the tree's they laid witness
to trial after trail of failure
laid between the click of a keyboard a new generation
of the vessel that we use to pour our souls into
my thoughts captured before my eyes and
just one click and you will all see
and maybe you will feel the failure I  carry
the failure i've never confronted myself with
a perfectly honest revelation
of how I failed you all,
of how I couldn't jump,
of how I let the fear of the pain
get in the way of the success of a champion.
Now I'm in my room feet firmly planted in reality and i still
feel the fear
I still feel the self doubt
the feeling that no matter how many times I jump
i'll always fall short
I'll never make it to the other side
I'll never be a person solidified in a vessel
whose soul was felt
whose soul was known
I'll never bring the world together, or sacrifice
I'll most likely be average
I'll mostly likely die without hearing
the sound of my giant crowd.

Within creased paper lie binded souls
Firmly held within my clutch ,
Ideology hemorrhaging as non-opposables only bend so much.
Thirsty i reached for a swig of your cup 
Open palmed 
This vessel mishandled 
the contents soaked through bedrock
Its remains a drink for the decrepit.

Paper kites fly with colours of a dye
dipped in ribbons
Hypocrites die
An eye for a eye
yet ******* keep on living

And the sky was cloaked
in glorious intentions
and the world was soaked
in the liars hosts

We're just vessels
We're vessels

And the sky was cloaked
in glorious intention
And the evening wrapped us
in it's own directions

We're just vessels
We are vessels
Of a soul

The sky takes it all
And the evening wrapped
us in it's own glorious
intentions

From the moment the words splash onto the page I feel excitement like the night before Christmas. I sit collecting the thoughts and lines I conjured throughout the day, then eagerly place each piece until the puzzle is whole.
I like to imagine I have a way with words, but that's not true. I have a way of rebelling to what's been told. Unscripted lies placed in our heads by society. Schemes to make us believe we are supposed to put everything second because being “cool” is priority. Or blend in with the crowd or else you'll get pushed, shoved, and then stomped on. Until creativity is a negative connotation, they **** individualism which then gives birth to stereotypes.
I like to think I have a way of words, but that's not true. Every word has power. Though they can often be used to pierce and bruise. Tattered and misused. Each time they come out your mouth or bleed ink, paint or graphite. That's your mark and the impression you leave for the entire world to see.
I like to think I have a way with words, but that's not true. I just love a canvas to portray the good parts of me, the bad parts of me. The parts filled with animosity, fear, and definitely aren't god breathed. Just to show that sometimes I falter, so don't ever follow me.
I like to think I have a way with words, but that's not true. I'm just grabbing the torch and running with it. It's a calling not a choice. It chooses you as a vessel. The words came to me when I had nothing else, they took me under their wings and showed me destiny. The words mold me, shape me, and build me up. Give me courage to speak up.
I like to think I have a way with words, but that’s not true. The giddy feeling I get when I hear them calling to me at night, keeping me from sleep, or waking me abruptly in the morning like a cold refreshing shower just waiting to energize and excite me always reminds me that though I like to think I have a way with words, it’s not true... Words have a way with me.