You are beautiful forever--

the core of who you are..
still  wholly uncorrupted,
is made in the very image of God--

It is intertwined with your flesh
so that your flesh may become healed.

But your flesh is immersed in
the stupidity, placed there by others,  not you.
But you are the one that still  chooses
to believe its ******-up message--

The one that says   it will not work
or that   it's all too much
or that   no one cares, anyways

or that  you are not worthy
             of the magic that is in you.

The relational part of your own  healing
that already exists  within you
will come to you from those
who love you enough
to want to tell you the truth--

That the message your traumatized flesh, carries
is nowhere near the truth,  but instead
is immersed inside of the lie.
I tell you the truth, in response to your
acknowledgement of my faith in you
and you respond by treating me as if
you have no value for me whatsoever.

What tells you inside of yourself
to respond that way?

So, I make a play for you again,
not to make you mine..

  but to remind you of who you truly are.

All of the healing you will ever need
is already inside of you..  through the
Image-bearing nature  of the very core
of who you are.  Its deep ache  to permeate
your broken flesh  is held at bay
by Love's beautiful choice to  yield
to your own freedom of autonomy

Because love, without freedom
is not love at all--

but only control.. with a smile.

I weather your storms
because not even your own  lack of
believing in yourself  will ever
stop  me from believing in you.

--And yes.. you are at times difficult--
sometimes to such a degree,  that the dream
you actually are to me..  at those times

can feel to me as if instead,
like a bad nightmare..

But that is only the stupidity, of your flesh
and your own temporary stupidity  of actually
believing  that,  in itself..   as if  to be life..

 and as if  to be you.

You are my beautiful,  forever
that will never, ever  change.
One day  you will see, beautiful girl.

I know that one day,  you will see

We were only ever
moving through..


A transient
encounter pinked
in sprinkled serendipity

had synchronised
our step

and having met
before the bested peaks
of all that seemed unlikely
we stayed close.


Through
needless plays
of problematic metaphor,
we laughed and wept,
deplored enforced morality,
embraced a great unknown,

explored the cultic
sympathies, arrested
in our infancy
and swore an oath
eternal to the greenery
regrown..



..while knowing
well, the day will come
when one moves on
alone

That which is of the heart,  capable
of making its stand  in the world
  calling "good", that which it sees  as good..
and then bleeding  from the inside
on its behalf;

  This beautiful Art..

This magnificent creature
This one who  is capable
of raising from the dead
    That, which has fallen:

In to despair
In to the Blackness of the pit--

  An un-supported suffering
  An Un-loved, grieving
A fallen-one
falling between the cracks

--Until,  with a Kiss
and a hand-chosen
prairieflower,  gifted--
Bringing,  back to life
all things..  once, dead

in the heart of a little boy
in the heart of a little boy..

I don't want to be   p u l l e d
in  to  your  world..

My hope is to  become  able
to lift you out of  your world
    until you find your  
                   true,  own..

  Instead of the one  you
  have  fallen  in to

I've always kept my jealousy
locked in a box within my heart,
and since the day we started dating
only I've held the key.

My jealousy innocently simmers
inside like a *** of water,
but explodes red-hot like
the lava inside a volcano
if put under pressure

I wish I could let you open up my little box
and let you see the real root of my jealousy.
Let you see that buried underneath my smile
lies a deep, etched frown.

But I know you wouldn't understand.
You see me as strong and as cast-iron hard
as the box encased around my heart.
You would break if you saw
your sturdy rock crumble.

So instead I'll shut my little box
and throw away the key,
in hopes that if I bury these feelings
deep enough inside of me
I'll forget they ever existed
in the first place.

Drawing lines on myself
with a knife in place of a pen,
wanting someone to see,
anyone to see.

Because no one sees
that my tears are a cry for help,
that whenever I make suicide jokes
they're less of joke
and more of a fantasy.
That I don't just wear sleeves all the time
because I'm constantly cold.

So I'll finish my sketch
and display it for everyone to see.
I hope everyone likes it.
Not everyone likes abstract art after all...

My first experience with love
felt like touching a hot stove.
I would constantly have to hold back
to keep from getting burned
by your hot temper.
I walked into my second relationship
with those same standards,
with 3rd degree burns
snaking up my arms and legs.
When my boyfriend saw my scars he
wanted to crush your heart in his hands.
And even though that sounds violent,
I know he would never smash a spider.
He would never hurt me.
He just wants what's best for me.

And that isn't you.