I live on a boat

A lonely boat

Why do these things bother us?

Reality is kaput

Life is tip toe

The world turns as the world turns

on a ball

at the beach

But all the world’s a stagecoach

and I took the bus home.

Something so monumental

To my vaporous life

Yet I’m not at the center

but off to the side

Gone in a day

Packing up a child’s life

How can we fit such lively memories into this suitcase?

Our goodbyes so concise,

Make it mean something, make it sound nice

Women with briefcases holding a match to the gaslight

But the truth was a knife,

And it cut me twice

two toddler shaped holes in my life

Dreading waking up tomorrow

To remember it’s real again

No laughter, no crying, no children in sight

Can’t seem to reason why

Did I think that He has loosened His grip on them

That He has forgotten His own heart

That He has loved them less now than eternity past?

Did I think that His word would return void

That His providence was untimely

That His sovereignty won’t last?

Did I think that His mercies have grown old

That His lovingkindness grown cold

That His plans have been dashed?

But alas, It is my grief

To think that the right hand of the most high has changed

But His great faithfulness endures,

Praise the Lord

He is the same

Ringing in my bones

Something I did not know

Like a platform for my feet

Before I leap

That wide eyed wilderness

White capped bewildering

My ears wide open

To the song that it sings

Soft and quiet like,

Dust landing on strings

A subtle correspondence

for my mind

breathes in my contusions

And my doubts alike

Exhales fondness

Wrapped me in neoprene

fibers of my thoughts dance

With purple swaying

I’m pierced through

Can it heal if it does not sting?

To soar over fields again-

Salt in my longing

Memories of shiny substance

Like recalling a dream

I yearn to call it home

But it’s never belonged to me

Here we are again playing tug of war.

Your intentions aren’t for me but you,

Who is keeping score?

Another ploy to mold and manipulate, you win again.

I’m trying so hard not to add this one to the heap out back near the trash

It’s trickling food

For my resentment in the alley

“You can’t get mad at me if I don’t do what you want”

Somehow this child has more backbone than me,

Is my freedom more crucial

Than your supposed misery?

From where I stand it doesn’t look so bad

Hard, yes, but the pit of despair?

It’s not fair

And yet I’m here most months of the year

Where I pitched my tent under the bus

Should I lay across this pothole again so your tires don’t pop?

Shamed if I do, shamed if I don’t,

What does it matter?

But then,

I remember.

“How many times?” I ask

“Have I kept count?” He replied.

“Has my grace run out?”

And just like that my sin is magnified and His grace displayed

And I’m sure it’s written all over my face,

But I remember.

I was one that lined the streets, mocking and screaming “crucify!”, While my Hope walked by, dragging His cross up the hill.

I was the one that provided the hammer that would drive the nails into His hands, I was the one that wove together the thorny strands that carved His scars upon His crown, I was the one that beat Him and spat on Him, who painted the earth with His blood, just as I too was the one who looked the other way.

I remember what I’ve been forgiven from,

I remember the places I’ve been in sin,

I remember the depths of despair where there was no air and my necklace was a noose and they called it pretty, sinking in the sand with my hand outstretched toward loose branches that were uprooted as I touched them, I remember being pleasantly sedated in daylight by a lie that I was fine but at night I remember I was hunched over in the bathroom, heaving emesis, doors locked, my fears a mess on the floor and no one to come in and mop them, I remember the weight was so great that I couldn’t go another day without Him.

Something

had

to

give,

and

He

gave

me

grace.

And now, somehow, I’m saved and free

Which also means, free to forgive. Free to suffer joyfully. Free to give grace simply because I have received it.

Free to sit in the midst of the mess with others, to wait out the wind battering His temple, knowing that the God of grace and glory sits on His throne already.

The pathless woods,

I’ve heard them spoken of

Now I wonder if it’s not so much a place

As a state of mind

A resemblance of feeling

With no means of navigation

I believe I’m in that place

Unchartered

I’m handing you a bullet

It’s lead and heavy

And heavy laden,

Been in my pocket for a long time.

Don’t shoot me with it, please.

I know you have a gun,

You bring it out of it’s hiding place

When you are

Angry, Sad, Alone

You wave it around in my face.

Don’t shoot me with it, please.

My initials are engraved

On that lead bullet

It’s a piece of me

I wasn’t supposed to keep to myself

And you have it now, I gave it to you.

You gave me one of yours too

And you said,

“Don’t shoot me with it, please”

We should disarm ourselves,

Don’t you think?

Make amends,

Let enmity shrink?

I only have so many bullets to give-

When you pull that trigger,

The gunpowder ignites,

In a flash of white, it’s gone.

Don’t shoot me with it, please.

jaundice

because he has a buildup of anger

so yellow like that carbonated drink

[i need a map to navigate his needs]

breathing like a woodwind now

they pushed his tongue away

from the roof of his mouth

never spoke up before, now he can’t

day and night

determined by the dimming

of the fluorescent light

death and life

determined by the rush of people

across the hall

is his anger still there,

just below the surface,

or is that gone too?

When I scratch my head, I recall the Venus fly trap that sprouted there.

It grows hungry at night, and snaps at the dreams above my bed.

It prowls among my thoughts;

Tonight it pounced on the nakedness of desire.

I cannot drown out this fire.

These embers still burn despite my flooding fear-

I cannot drown out this fire.

A sodden coat,

Damp with defeat,

Shrouds my shoulders. So I sigh-

And feed the trap another cinder from the burning pile at my feet.

My love language is touch;

my atmosphere is distended from my eyes, reaching out and craving contact with you.

Look at me!

Your mortality touches mine when these spheres in our heads align

And

I

feel

grounded.

I am reminded that I am interactive;

Part of me is body.

I wish I was acquainted with humility and didn't feel the need to be known,

But I do.

Will you know me? Will you ask?

“I cannot wait to transition from this vapid exile of decor and detour into something less of a sham than what I already am.” The creature spoke faintly into her neck.

“Can’t you breathe, sir?” she replied, concerned for her companion.

He sighed and wistfully said, “I do not know where to find the air.”

It may not matter. “I am aging, and so are you.” She whispered.

It was a sudden change, yet it spanned across a lifetime.

She broke.

This meant that he too, could no longer be.

Their souls were radiant as they glimmered through the cracks of her decaying body.