To love Jesus is to long with Him
But that longing is not enough
There is a need
To structure our lives
Around spending time with Him.

To desire also means to be disciplined
And then, we found ourselves
Delighting in the Lord.
It captures the essence
Of what it takes
To develop a consistent devotional life.

You can be motivated with great desire,
But without discipline
You will never get there
Discipline positions us
To receive grace;
Discipline is not grace
It is the *submission of our heart
To encounter the grace of God.

It is not about whether God loves us —
His love is sure
Whether we are disciplined or not —
But it is our wholehearted response
To Him that allows us to find Him.

One must delight in the Lord
And shear every misfitting
And *earthly delights.

She seems pretty queer
Yes she does
Something odd
Something peculiar

Is it in her insouciance
Is it in her audacity
Is it in her pirouettes
Spun with such vivacity

Is it in her defiance
Is it in her nonrepentance
Is it in her reveling so free
A form full of glee

Sometimes impetuous
All times ingenuous
Aflame with passion
An immersive intoxication

Cracking down on this mystery
A perplexing dichotomy
Let's remove the misfitting pieces
In sync with commonplace notions

Alas what dismantling of a girl
at peace with her pieces
What uprooting of a girl
at home in her body

blank ink

hiccup

split
        slip
flee

no flight

nor fight

If this hallmark of a romantic gift
I give
is a bit fumbled,
and its professions of heartfelt wishes
feel
slack in their graham-*******-box repackaging;
If the candy-coated wrapper’s fit
is left
misfitting around its dented-in red corners,
and the lippiness of its stick
has come
unstuck at each crushed-down end;
If the pink bow
stands unbowed
and frowns as unpretty as any crime-scene picture,
while it raises
a frayed end with the victim’s gone-through motion
entreating
death for its last tug free;
It could be
my feeling heart’s once-bold youth
isn't
entirely found in it,
or it could be
the entirety
bound in it,
my heart,
couldn’t find its way out.

He wrote upon the walls, in the abandoned halls, of his misfitting ways.

Wayward were his days, of poetry, motioned in the passionate oceans, in which he played, the songs of his state in grace.

Alone and zoned for a beautiful place, in candle lit eloquence he commenced, in subtle hints, of tomorrow.

Deplorably adorable, he swallowed the sorrow, of the pity of a horrible city of broken wit.

Smoking from his eyes, he politely denied, the open spaces and spotlights, in the flickering pieces of his soul thesis, scrawled in black felt, from a disharmonious whelp of feel bads.

Misguided and still glided onto the path, with his hand out, he shouts aloud,  lashing out, to pull the weak in, to see the sun again, as it shone through the broken window upon his heart, departing from him, the dark that killed him.

The air feels fake.
Fictional even, when that tightness in my chest occurs.
Slick smokey and black fingers lurk
From the corners of any minuscule space I happen to be in
And creep, and lurch, and crawl towards me.
They drown out the light and **** up the oxygen.
Coal-colored tendrils,
Petrifying sea anemones,
Anatomical autonomous anomalies...
Awful.
I sit paralyzed.
My control comes in the form of doorways.
                                                       ­  Or windows.
                                                               Or room to move my arms.
But these creatures deny me the satisfaction of control,
                                                        ­                           of space,
                                                                ­                        of air.
Synthetic winds fill my body, rapidly, as if I can't get enough.
Shutting my eyes does not help.
It only enhances the sensation of them gripping my arms,
Strapping me down and maneuvering their way down my throat.
Churning my stomach and stopping the expansion of my lungs.
Each bronchial synapse screams.
Every AVM feels like it might burst and fill my lungs with thick blood.
Choking.
The fingers are stuck and tickling my esophagus and they burn,
Like ash from a funnel tunneling through me scorching my organs.
Behind buzzing hummingbird eyelids
Are kaleidoscopic misfitting jigsaw pieces
entering, appearing, disappearing, e x  i   t    i     n      g.
It won't end
It won't end
Itwon'tend
The world is ending all around and the arms and fingers won't
(gogogo go GO)
back to the corners whence they came
Until...

I had travelled for so long.....too long some may say
Hunting for the lost piece of the puzzle that before me lay

Love - it was always there,
Laughter it was never far,
Copious bright imprints snuggled sweetly to my chest,
Two peas in a pod -
A pod that I secretly knew was the best.

Pieces went missing?
Pieces felt misfitting?
Then:
You cared far more for freedom,
You cared far more for money, more money,
You cared far more about the opinions of those that don't care much at all,
You cared far more about the substances that fooled you to believe that all it wanted was to help

I wanted to help - Me,

You lied and lied again
When all I wanted
Was the truth
When all I Needed
Was the truth

You say:
Your reflection is distorted now?
Your eyes are unsure
You feel walls at every angle
And This is what you feel you must endure?

You no longer saw who I saw
and I couldn't understand why.
You were my favourite person
one of the nicest I knew
You had been my home for so long.

I became exhausted
I became tearful
I became scared
I became so worried about you that I forgot all about me
I forgot about everything else that was worth worrying over in this beautiful world.

I Had to surrender.
because I couldn't answer any of the why's that clung
So badly
To how we ended up on this path.
I just couldn't solve it - my god I tried and tried again.
But, the pieces - they just wouldn't fit.

I never wanted to, but

I let you go

As excruciating as this was, it was the only thing left to do.

I let you go

I miss you
I don't though miss
The tears
The arguements
The disappointment
The worry
The uncertainty
The fear I cradled whenever I dared to hope
But I do miss you

I see sparkles of you every so often and I remember all the love that once connected us so securely - with a sad smile on my face.

I now accept that there was no helping you to make choices that would've brought you happiness - as it was a happiness you felt unworthy of.
Nor could I have helped you to love yourself like I did - you knew what I was yet to find out.

I now understand - guilt can steal a good heart.

I don't make things happen
Things happens to me
I'm just a bystander
no one else can see
I'm just a witness
witnesses forget
I'm just a misfit
the misfitting reject