I make sure to capitalize the G in God so that I build up my way to Heaven.

Even the trivial things matter! They are all trivial. The things. These things. My things. Your things. God’s things are us and we are His.

My side hurts and my Bruises do too. Incisions. Excisions. Draining. Drying. Breaking. Bursting. Crying. Dying. All capitals and capitols.

Even the trivial things matter! They are all trivial. The things. These things. My things. Your things. Satan’s things are us and we are His.

I make sure to capitalize the S in Satan so that, God forbid I’m forbidden, I build a way down to Hell, too.

#mortality #punctual #God #Heaven #Hell #prose #prosetry

Over the wintry

Forest, winds howl in rage

With no leaves to blow.

Natsume Sōseki

It is at the cusp of a lonely road that I find myself, meandering there towards the end, where at the beginning I ran, half my life now gone like a dream, a dream that seemed so grand and noble, but could not be fulfilled by a will so weak. Where once a child wanted to save the world, to a failure of a man at the end of the lonely road, standing there as the gods look on and say, o’ the sham, how did we waste such a strong and healthy body, such an inquisitive mind, on a soul so pale and pathetic?

Even the wind seems quiet here. The distant stars seem ever more impossibly far and cold, and beneath my feet a crumbling façade of a dream falls into an abyss of time.

I look back once again at the road behind that led me here, at that childhood dream of a free world. The way twists and turns, and parts of the road are still covered by the debris of ambiguity, by my lack of courage and the inability to find closure.

But ahead of me at the end of this road, there is no mystery, no opaqueness, and the way is clear. In that endless pit of time I will reside as a failure, and there my destiny I will meet.

Inspired by My Thirty-Three Year's Dream by Tōten Miyazaki

I daily listen to podcasts.

One podcast a day.

My favourite topic is

serial killers and what makes them tick.

From cannibals who love an exotic taste to those with a weird hobby in creating human skin lamps.

I‘ve listen to them all.

But

there is one thing bugging me.

All these killers get caught and end up in the court.

Pleading for less time with a golden ticket.

A plead of insanity.

How can they associate mental health with these monsters.

I am offended that my condition

bipolar is compared to a serial killer.

Oh they must have mental health, no one in their right mind would kill.

Excuses after Excuses.

They had a shitty childhood blah blah blah.

Lots of sane people have had shitty childhoods but they don’t have the urge to kill.

Stop making excuses.

Admit it’s part of you, your personality that made you a killer.

Stop with the excuses.

You make people with mental health feel more isolated in a world where we are still misunderstood.

A plead for insanity is looking for the easy way out and not confronting the monster within.

I will take your hand

and maybe it will be rough

and maybe it has dirt on it

and maybe the fingers aren't the prettiest

but I know this hand has held the darkest moments

I know it has thrown rocks for self protection against

bombs

I know it has been stabbed when it has reached out to be shaken

I will take this hand

and I will hold it

because even after all it has been through,

I know it will still hold back.

I skipped stones

across the lake

perhaps that’s how

your thought

process regenerates

I was brushing

my teeth

when he told me

you died peacefully

in your sleep

your presence

a faucet of innocence

spilling over

the edge

of the sink‘s porcelain

I hope you‘re

somewhere at rest

we are under

the ripples

of your lasting presence

I tell Téa how my post went viral on tumblr only after

deactivating & she says it’s like publishing poetry posthumously,

& how we could both turn famous once we die. I do still want to

return to Tumblr just for the drama of resurrection: I thank the people

who waited for me all these years & say hi. But honestly

all my favorite people know I’m still alive. I just crave the strangers

who once reblogged my posts to adore me again & again, like a motor

turning over. I do still measure myself in past tense, my bad.

Anyone who misses the old me believes I’m still trying to go back,

& some nights I believe it, too, so I lay in bed & listen to “The Funeral”

& pretend this is it, I’ve lasted long enough, everyone who loved me knew me

wrong. Or not. I have some faith that I am more than a bottle of blood, that if you hung me

up, there’d be a crowd livestreaming beneath me, crying

O! What a gorgeous day for mourning. I remain because I must.

When I die, my body will exhume love like dust.

It will spring out as petals & be hard to inhale. O!

Everyone will hate the scents of rotten flowers that should’ve been

plastic, but I’ve always been too sincere.

"Again Peter denied it. And immediately a rooster crowed (John 18:27 NLT)."

Studying Peter's three denials of Jesus after he claimed he would follow him in death, it is easy to facepalm and say I wouldn't have yielded. But in the face of danger, especially after "Peter drew a sword and slashed off the right ear of Malchus, the high priest’s slave (John 18:10 NLT)," Peter seemed to go into panic mode, taking the shameful route to save his own skin. I would hope that I would have proudly claimed to be with Jesus and accepted my fate should I have been in this boat, but I very likely may have done the same thing Peter did. Thankfully, Peter's story doesn't end with his failure - he celebrates Jesus' resurrection later, has the opportunity to reconcile with Him, and goes on to spread the Good News boldly and bravely. Jesus restored Peter and let his story and purpose continue, and Jesus' work can do the same thing for us too, despite our mistakes we made/make.

Thank You Lord for Peter's example, and the restoration You provide me on a daily basis. Thank You for forgiving my many blunders and mistakes. Like You did for Peter, please help me to live a life that honors You and benefits others, and please help me to continue to grow and learn in this process with Your help. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.

This is admittedly self-serving but I wanted to reach out to my fellow Prosers and humbly request brutally honest feedback on my work. How you choose to do this is up to you- private message, commenting on this post, commenting on other posts you come across, whatever. All constructive criticism, suggestions, or pieces of advice are welcome. Don't spare my feelings. I'll get over it.

I know that many publications will offer to give you feedback on your submissions, but that usually comes at an increased or additional cost to the amount you're already paying to submit your piece. Unfortunately, I can't do that for every contest or magazine I enter even though I'd like to.

This is the closest thing I have to a creative writing community and there are many writers on here that I deeply respect and admire who clearly have a grasp on how to create a cohesive and impactful piece of work. This is a pretty respectful group of down to earth and talented people and I recognize and appreciate that.

Faith is that believing. Knowing that we walk by it not by sight. It is what our belief system is built on. It is so important in every moment and every aspect of my life.

Hopes, wishes, dreams and goals are what we place or hold for ourselves and others. These are good and wonderful things. We can hope something works out well. We can wish something will happen. We can dream about it happening and we can set a goal to make something happen. Also, we know that through faith all things are possible.