gentle flowers under the sun
growing roots and growing up
brushing up against other stems
-feeling touch, feeling skin-
a soft brush on a petal
and it falls
right
off:
i never meant to hurt you
but i just didn’t think
to
stop.

i don’t want to be labeled by your names
i don’t want to be hurt for hurting again
i apologize for causing pain
but selfishness wants to never be treated the same!
i deserve the hate
i deserve your mistrust!
at least i hurt out of ignorance,
you hurt to make your hurt feel less than it does-

when all our
petals
fall to the
ground
will we
realize
the pain we’ve
given
to take back
all we’ve lost
has taken everything
that we have
and left us
paying the cost-
i know
i am the enemy
i know
that i have done you wrong
i learned my lesson,
took my shame,
but all your petals
at this rate
won’t last very long.

take the open door
because when you look back
realize the broken path
you will fall through the depths
and slip into the deepening cracks-

when you look inside
you will see what you like to see
you will find what you came to seek!
and when you get what you want
you'll find that the door was closed for the past three weeks
to hide the stench of the bodies stacked
-the guts hidden behind the hopeful crusted lips
words spoken and never heard
forgotten before they ever stirred-

not a soul in sight

will we be alright
here
under a lonely light

when the lamp goes cold
that’s all that i
fear

truthfully
you will never see me
the way i see you
and you will never forgive me
like i do-
because
we are different you and i
different grass
same sky
different heart
different minds
different understandings of riddled rhymes-
and you will try and see me
and i will try and see you
-truthfully
i do
see you-
but that's not enough for one to be seen
and heard
and understood;
there has to be a greater blanket
to cover up good
to cover up blood
and to hide all the wounds-
but as you cut in deep
you stab me too.

you ask yourself
you trust yourself
and you go on your way

you believe your truth
you accept your proof
and you go on your way

you live life with max ease
you do as you please
and you go on your way

but you can't trust yourself
you can't trust anyone else
to give you the answers, and show you the way

so just know that you don't
that you always won't
or either muster the confidence to simply say

"i don't know what i'm doing"
"theres no way of knowing"
"i'm trying to make the best of my fate"

or

"i trust in the stars"
"i leave life up to chance"
"i believe there's a God still showing me grace"

You are the rain
sometimes cooling down
sometimes in the way
sometimes comforting me on my couch
sometimes frightening with rage-
but you are not just the rain
you are a cold front
on a hot day
with the sun still shining-
brushing against my face;
and I dream of when you’ll come
and I beg that you would stay,
I anticipate the moving clouds
knowing they carry you my way-
but you are not just a cold front,
you are not just the rain,
you are an old tree
in Bryant park
protecting our great love
protecting me in your shade;
and I know God has planted you
and I know that he is great,
but I am thankful for your falling leaves
casting beauty in my face,
calming me down with your grace-
-there is not a more beautiful place-

i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-

there isn't enough time in the day
for me to get the thoughts out of the way
to deal with the shame
and the self hate-
as the minute hand spins round and around
i cannot stop myself
from thinking that God's breath was waisted
that he should've made someone else
and that the air i've tasted
should've been ****** from my lungs
something i never should've felt.
i see the sun in others eyes
and worship their beauty
and curse my ground
because the radiating light
from the sun i'm viewing
could never come from my mouth
or my heart
or something inside my stomach
growling for more-
all i do is consume
and drink up the spills on the floor-
i am the dog
begging for the scraps
and i am unworthy of anything
besides that.
besides the moldy trash.

i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-
because where could i belong!
where would my place be
would i sit beside you
or beneath your feet-

(my heart humbled knows what i deserve
-the worst
-the crumbs
-the feet upon my head
but you pick me up
tell me i'm free
wash me clean
throw me a feast
robe me
and celebrate how you are no longer lonely
for your cherished son
who did you wrong
and spit on your name
is not lost in a grave
but is home-
i
am
home)

we like to justify:
lie
create
or at least try
to make
or state
a reason why
we do
what we do
or why we chose that we don't
but the truth
we ignore
is that we don't know, and we won't-

it’s not that i don’t like my body,
im secure in myself,
but i can feel my weight
like being shackled to a mountain,
and i can’t move without feeling
like im not myself.
i see myself
i know it’s me,
but daily slugging
fills me uncomfortably-

i’m so aware that this is killing me slowly
but my apathy leads me to eat my self to passion;
good thing i can move past appearances,
or else i might be crushed under the fashions-

i know that i need to make a change
if i long to live a life without this feeling
but is there any room left to fill this void
or will i be crushed under all of my weight.

An aching song
replaces the windful soul
of branches clanking on
to rhythms growing old-
-
the residue
of explosive tunes
drowns out the view
of old- now new.
-
there’s so much red in the sunset
so much red in the onset
so much red in the eyelids
so many tears still falling,
there’s not much green in the audience,
much more green in faucet
hidden green in the closet
too many tears still falling.
-
white hills with wheels
made of steel and fear
look to **** and steal
while the white hills men cheer.
-
gold dripping water
from self righteous fathers
get stored far from the thirsty
so they can gain and barter.
-
there’s no way to heal everyone
unless we become many ones,
reaching out to hold the youth
from plummeting into a deadly sun.
there aren’t many ones,
yet far too many anyones-
ghosts too selfish to lift a finger
or gain souls to breathe a helpful song.
-
when will good will
and will power will
something more than death
over every hill?
when will good will
and will power will
something innocent
instead of thrilling kills?
when will good will
and will power will
something truly good
to be a hearty fill?
when will good will
and will power’s will
be enough to keep us pure
enough to love still?

let my thoughts not dwell on this present age,
or the words on my people, or the thoughts of complaint,
but may my mind find rest in fountains of peace
and with heavy contentment, may my eyes find sleep-

unrest settles around me
and fear begins compounding
but my head lies
beneath your loving eyes
and gives into being loved graciously

fear the plague of nostalgic apathy
groaning for things no longer seen
things left behind in forgotten seas
that creep there way to be present feelings-
bitter tasting bread, bitter place instead
digesting mold, sickness, and dread-
thankfulness, no more regret,
a pure sedative to pains of ingesting death.

was it my fault-


take apart the past_ I wish it never passed.
I wish that the time flew by while we sat and laughed.
and maybe then I’d find the time to finally ask
what I could find that would make you relax-
instead I sit down on my bed at night
and wonder why I never did it right,
wondering why we’re still together,
wondering wether or not this will last forever-

was it my fault-


the words pouring from your lips
before the touch of our kiss
point out that it was my clenched fists
forcing faces to become clicked-
i
was
the
one
who
wanted
this-
those are the only words I remember-
the only words I can hear you say.
I thought you wanted all that I could pull together,
never knowing how far I would tear you away-

I believe in grace
just if deserved
just if earned.
-
I believe in mercy
just to perfection
just to a specific impossible exception.
-
I believe I was forgiven
but I wasn’t that bad
but I’m not like that.
-
I believe I am loved
but I was predestined
I guess that makes me the best then?
-
Hate the sin and love the sinner
except if their fall brings my rise
except if others agree they should die.
-
Love The Lord with all your heart,
he doesn’t need you to love others
he didn’t mean bad neighbors, just brothers.
-
I don’t hate, I love justice
imprisoning those who I hate
celebrating death and destruction
pouring hours into self justification
worshiping men with idolatrous consumption.
-

this flower's sour-
i don't taste it's beauty
and this sunset
is still blinding;
can one find the thing
all good and all lovely
can man find the thing
of no painful tracing;
toxic breath
acid rainbow death
happiness cigarette
radiation monument
tumorous candidate-

Jesus
Holy Spirit
God my Father,
for nothing but grace
I have been able to drink
the crystal water
and taste something sweet enough
to enjoy the pain of all suffering.
I am glad to suffer in the warm pool of your joy.

The mind
Is my
Worst feature-
My imagination
Turns me into
A new creature-

I will-
Foam at the mouth till I get what I want,
And weep to myself when I finally have it-
I will-
Disperse all irrelevant relevant details,
And give myself up to bad habits!
This drug of fantasy
Will bring me down with it’s dark tendencies!
And like Justin and Reece used to sing,
I am confusing my lust for these fallacies!

Images!

You cheat me till I’m bone dry!
Desiring to weep, but I can’t cry!
Wanting to give up, but I can’t die!
Wanting to move on, but I won’t try!
Wanting all that I can’t have!
Dreaming of decisions I could never take back!
Hoping for things that I could never ask!
And I
Push it on my wife like it’s her task!
To feed the demons of my dark soul!
To fill this void, this bottomless hole!
And when she can’t, I will grasp for control!
But I’m the one that needs to let go!
So I sit in misery of my thoughts!
And hope that the words I say can be forgot!
Images will cheat your eyes, your heart and all that you’ve got!
Until you’re at your lowest point, broken, distraught-

with all of this being said,
it's a weird feeling-
contentment, then drowning;
wet and then parched from every ounce of liquid.
i am just trusting the process
and not asking as many questions-
it perplexes me thinking upon this narrative.
i once praised doubt like it would lead to obsidian,
however; i have stood in sand for too long
to deny that i need to just trust the process
and not ask as many questions.
i feel better when i'm just accepting
and not ironing out the details
of how a miracle is supposed to make sense.
i always iron until the clothes burn,
and i think i just have to accept that i am inclined this way.
exploring every possibility doesn't feel like i'm finding anything-
except ground powdery dirt filling every pocket in my lungs,
for i am inclined to spend hours down here
chipping away at stone until i have made a mess too big to handle
(a dust cloud too big to avoid breathing).
i am just trusting the process
and not asking as many questions-
and i am learning to be content with uncertainty.
                                          -
and i am certain that this is better than before

wait,
i don't think i was ready
to give up all my vices just yet,
i feel
unsteady-
like i can't quite catch my breath.
and i really need this-
oh god i need it-
i don't know what its like to lean on something so different.
something better feels deceptive
and unfamiliar-
i don't know how long i can hold on to what i dont know.
so if i have to hold you
can you please not let me go?
can i trust that you will not let me go?
and i wont fall from this window
into the emptiness below-

im different-
there's no other way to put it.
reflecting on mirrored timelines
there's no way they could've lapsed-
im different-
i feel ashamed of the times when i once
blinded myself to everything to be "just"-
and i pursued the relentless unforgiveness of feeling righteous
enough to relish in the thought of the unfit burning for the pious;
my world was of black and white hate
and of self-righteous black and colored debate:
"they clearly did something wrong to deserve their fate"-
and i told every broken mind to shut their doors
and to avoid therapeutic help, because that would mean they didn't trust God anymore-
and i caused a lot of damage and a lot of harm,
all under the misguided thoughts that i was saving hearts-
im different-
breaking at the thought that another human like me
is being treated so differently and so incredibly unjustly;
at the thought that people push and demand
so much of the troubled minds that they refuse to understand;
at the idea of children weeping for family members they may never see again,
while grown men rejoice at their cries and desperation-

and i also once believed that my misguided beliefs may have been because of Jesus
or because of this bible i read daily;
and that corrupted minds wrote a book bold enough to misguide me
and lead down a path of agony-
but i have been ashamed for too long of the God i know that loves deeply
and cares about the broken and ongoing tragedies,
answering the cries of those who would call upon his name,
bringing comfort in this life and after the end of these grim days.
he's only ever been an example of taking up the burdens of others
and giving your all to someone, even if they have broken your soul-
he's shown me everyday that i don't have any enemies
and that following him means caring unlike anything i know.
im different-
im completely sold on the idea that there is no need to abandon the title Christian,
and that it's okay to preface it with "i understand that to you that might mean something different".
i don't forsake his teachings, and i don't forsake the idea of sin,
and i don't disregard the fact that there will eventually be judgement;
but i know that the Lord desires to show his kindness, and forgiveness
and welcoming arms to all who would receive it;
and that a hungering soul is welcomed in, completely imperfect.
Christ sometimes looks different than what you see on television
or hear from a wealthy pastor who only cares about attendance
and accumulating wealth for a million dollar home to live in;
it makes sense because i was different-
serving what was so insignificant
thirsting for what would leave me dehydrated
and craving what would leave me with emptiness-

now it feels like contentment;
like knowing everything will find it's place
and that different is peace, and joy, and enjoying grace.

It’s hard to care when you constantly consume
And casually crawl to your next careless doom.
Drown the dreadful sound of death and distresses
With doing diligent duties of deadlifts and presses.
Present your body, perfect your posture,
Purposely pose and perform, what do you offer?
Over and over, overlook the overlooked
And over emphasize and obsess over our looks.
Life is lost; lifeless ,limp and not much left,
Their little limbs lie still and lose all red,
Yet I read and ritualistically refuse to realize
The reality of death, the relentless killing reeling past my eyes.
Everything feels ephemeral, even eons feel like they evaporate;
Every evil event blinds me more and expresses empathy into a concentrate
Which I don’t take;
Which I waste;
My empathetic blood over coagulates-
I’m hardened,
I’m numb,
I’m used to seeing darkness overcome,
But I’m hurting
With head hung;
Is there no way to protect the young?
Is there no way to make a change?
It feels like everything stays the same!
It feels like the west has left this plane
With no plans for right east days.
A mentality of me means we must make
Sure this sense of self is seated in a superior way.
Western ways, wave goodbye, wave your waste-
We are all walking westward without willingly changing pace!
We’re unaware of our own blazed trails,
We’re unaware of the paths we take.
We’re barely even taking a path in the first place.
We’re barely moving, barely speaking,
Barely seeing or even breathing.
I say we, but I mean me, because I know I’m barely feeling,
But conviction in spirit makes all the burying less appealing;
I’m finally folding open each eyelid one at a time,
Prying my eyes into a state that they don’t normally provide;
And I will watch the world for what it really is;
And I will watch the church for what it really is;
And I will watch the body for what it really is;
And I will watch the Christians for who they really are;
And I will watch my brothers and see who they really are;
And I will weep for what I watch and see what really is and who really are,
And how far we’ve fallen from where we say we’ve been,
When we haven’t moved in centuries past the threshold of our own doors,
Or invited others in need to come stand upon our floors.
I imagine what it would be like to believe over seas,
Brought up in darkness, poverty, plagued by disease;
I saw it said the other day,“lord let my next trial be how well can I handle money”
But they are blind to the root of many evils, the toxicity of greed.
Because getting what you can and given little is all we breed
And carve into the hearts of families, worshiping capitalistic means!
“God made capitalism” is such a funny thing to see,
It’s as if we never read an ounce of what we preach.
As if all other nations are dammed by man made decrees,
Divided on how to govern, how to create freedom, or how to eat.
These are tedious things that have no worth.
Tedious things will end up burnt;
Tedious tidy-ups and tie-ups to tuning life will leave you hurt-
It’s overwhelming being caught in the web of pseudo Christianity, pseudo faith and fruit;
Believing what they say as absolute-
At the same time I ponder the reality that my faith has doubts too,
Like how the Bible is made by man, and God’s  hands,
Yet infallible, with pure intentions and plans.
Can I accept that?
I know some of you can’t?
But then what is left that can stand?
Do we determine the character of God like west-wing prophets?
Do we trust ourselves to know God’s thoughts and process?
Pick and choose then pick and lose?
Pick a faulty step and then pick a noose?
Do I trust in you?
You who also say that they’re happy with Alligator Alcatraz?
Who laugh when families are taken from their dads?
Who cheer for pain and suffering of others?
Who don’t know even the slightest meaning to the word brother?
Or do I follow you who worships the endless pit of consumption?
The one who can’t live without getting something?
Never content because you are chasing around a doorless fence;
Worshiping the air, the particles, or even the sound of your breath.
Always hungry, always changing, never considering the emptiness.




In all of this I find comfort in two greatly forsaken ways:
Laying down my life for others,
And in my demise giving thanks.
I am thankful for my pain.
I am thankful for suffering when I do.
I would rather suffer than watching it happen to you.
My prayers recently have been along the lines of this:
“Jesus may you save those in pain and show me how I can help.
May you bring peace to all who are suffering, even though their lives are hell.
Open my eyes to see the ways that I ignore their yells,
And may you help me to love greatly, even if it hurts myself.
Thank you for my family, my son, my wife, my home.
Thank you for being here with me even when I feel alone.
Thank you for your blessings and I trust you always provide.
Even when I have nothing, I know you’re by my side.
Help me to endure what is needed to break off the heavy spells
That this world is casting day by day to make me hate myself.
I love you Lord and how your word has never let me down;
Pastors, brothers, and friends all will; in you, help me have no doubts”.