I am not even good enough
For a panic attack
To seize me.
The anxiety holds
Every part of me, only to let
Go, figuring I am
Not worthy.

Excitement was padded
By the weighted blanket
Of nailed in dates—

Times I knew I could not
Let people down, or back
Out, without hurting them.
I wasn’t giving up—

If it was up to me, I would
Already be up, up, on the
Wind, away from all that
I could not change—

But my soul still resided
Here, in the body God
Crafted for me since the
Beginning—

I was not a bundle of joy,
Planning things with the
Anticipation of a child,
I was a servant—

Abiding God's plan in Him
Wanting me here,
 the Spirit
Working in my otherwise
deceitful heart.

I fell at the feet
Of an old, peeling
Altar.
The stone was
Unremarkable
& still.
Yet behind it
Stood the man
Of Grace
And Love.  
I could not see
Him, nor hear
His voice.
Only I knew He
Was there.
He walked around
The pedestal and
Crouched
Beside me, holding
Out His steady hands
To catch
The falling tears
That dripped from
My prayers.

progress only feels like
the past i am giving
up on

I felt it catch the bus this morning.
It checked through the crossword,
Humming to itself.

I could feel its low heels clack, clack
On the sidewalk, turning down the
Smooth driveway.

It didn’t ring the bell—no, it only twisted
A key it had found long ago, and stepped
Inside, sighing.

The house was too bright with too many
Warm lamps and sun-lit windows. It
Pulled the blinds.

They unrolled sharply, wincing at the
Creeping darkness. But, ‘much better,’
It thought.

How long would it stay this time?
With bony hands, it scrawled
‘Indefinitely.’

I said sorry in my mind.

I reconstructed all of it--
Our past conversations,
The exchange made
Merely minutes ago—
I meant none of it,
What I really meant was. . .
. . .I know . . . Because. . .

Analogging a new answer
In my head, convincing myself
That I had said it all along—
Why do you still act
As if I did wrong? 


Or, perhaps, you brushed it off.
It was not strange to you.
It did not even stick out--
Because you couldn’t see 

All the things I could have said
And wished that I had.

I agonize over the words
That never leave my mouth,
Planning the past meticulously
Until it numbs the weight
That hangs over my chest
From the fumbled encounter
I remember so vividly.

I said sorry in my head,
Were my lips saying
Something different?
I said sorry in my mind.
But even then,
nothing is right,
nor organized,
did I even say sorry?
Or was it a fractured thought,
Underneath the pile,
Grown so high,
Of admonitions and guilt,
Screaming, yet never
Reaching the light?

A fire burns,
yet it is still
pleasureable?
Mind games,
and supple words,
He makes me
feel wanted.
But what part
of me
is he
after?

Fallen heads and tucked ankles that
Grew numb under the pressure
Of their prayers.

The Sanctuary was deserted,
Save for those still held
By Jesus.

He drew them Close to Him,
Laying love and peace
On their hearts.

With time, the spluttering organs
Were no longer made
Of stone.

I wish I could say
That I never envisioned
My soft hands surrounded,
Encapsulated, by yours—
The rough skin like a shield
Against the world.

But that simply

Wouldn't

be true.

Sin upon skin—
Rosy & blameless—
holes in delicate wrists

Nailed down wood--
A final plea, an outcry
of love in opposition—

On your knees—
Disbelief, a question
Of Who would
Do this
for me?

I held my throat
With a longing hand,
Searching for the voice
That was missing. 

All this time,
I had been speaking
The words of the world,
Instead of relying on
Those of God.
I warped my tongue
To fit the whims of those
Around me, but in
Doing so, I
Prohibited Him
From speaking
Through
Me.

The thoughts dawdled
As they walked through
The valves of my heart.
They repeated “I, I, I”
As if it were a passkey,
Fueling the sedation
That sunk into my body,
The darkness making
My limbs heavy and my
Head loll to the ground.
With every thought I
Made about me, the
Deeper I felt I was
N ot  W orthy

The old man carved
Into the tree,
Spoke words only
Small children
Could hear.

His eyes, knolls
Studied by barn owls
As they serenaded
The night,
Shined with mirth
As adults shook
Their sensible heads
And marched onward.

The newest souls
Always stopped to
Marvel at his words,
As if they knew 

God’s wisdom so
Frequently over-
Complicated by
Their caretakers.

Every so often,
A child in an older
Body, would stop
And listen as they
Did in their youth.

It was they who exited
The forest both older
And younger than before.

Hunkered down in my heart
Sat a man of love letters,
His flesh tearstained paper,
Scrawled with the pleas
Of His love I so frequently
Ignored, breathing quiet,
Patient as He prayed with
Eyes closed, setting the
Example for the soul who
Would one day sit beside
Him, sharing my heart even
As He remained First, forever
My source of Security,
Peace, and Joy.

Milestones of burned feet
Over scorching sand—
The tan lines of my beliefs
Left by the bathing suit
Of the worlds’ lies—
I rushed towards the ocean,
The cool, crushing weight
Of the love that ground
The rocks of falsity
To a meaningless shore.
How beautiful it is
That the waves still brush
Over them, faithful,
Forever trying to redeem
And reclaim all that had
To be ground to humbleness.

A delicate wax seal over stained,

Crumpled paper, grooved with an


Ornate design as if it were meant

For the royal family; but the note

Underneath is torn at the corners

And bent at odd angles, utterly

Undeserving of such a beautiful

Mark--as if they were reasurring

Words pressed into a stubborn

Heart, truthful even as the paper

Refuses to believe in their warmth.

There was a stain on my shirt,
Small and pebble-sized,
Barely visible to the naked eye.
But I could feel it above
My heart, and I pressed my hand
To it, trying to cover
Any semblance of imperfection—
I rubbed cold water
Into the fabric, anxiety-ridden
As I scrubbed, scrubbed,

Scrubbed, looking over my shoulder,

As if I would be caught
For a crime unintentionally committed.
I should have known
That washing my faults in worldy water
Would never remove
The stains it had caused. I soaked the
Cloth in tears and
Kneeled before my Father, bowed. 

“Make me new,”
I said, “In your love, Lord, make me
Who you intended me
To be in the womb.” I cried.
The fabric remained
The same, for it was only a shirt,
But my heart began
To thaw and the wounds marring it
From every sin
I tried to hide from God, were
Gently stitched together
With new, soft flesh, in His love.

I want. . .
. . .i can't
What is the disconnect?
how did i. . .
. . .get here
In this position?

I downplayed my emotions
For a living.

I glossed over them
With serious, diplomatic
Expressions, until my heart
Couldn’t tell the difference.

With every feeling that
Pushed its way to the surface,
I hung glasses and a fake
Mustache over its features,
Disguising it into something
I could live with.

With every kindness I dispensed,
I pocketed another golden ticket,
Collecting them in a small,
Unassuming piggy bank of who
I thought I was.

“It is by grace you have been saved,
Not by works.”

I nodded numbly as the words
Siphoned through my head, well-meaning,
But never finding a proper home.

I was only who I made others
Believe I was.

I smiled as I counted my golden tickets,
Knowing, one day, I would turn them in
For a reward.

“Daughter, your faith has healed you.”

My heart was slow as my faith
Overwhelmed the logic
Of the world.

I tossed out the tickets one by one,
Knowing that becoming Christ,
Becoming Love Himself,
Was not measurable.

God would not judge me from behind
An arcade counter.

I dropped the joy I had gained
From glorifying myself,
And sat in silence,
Surrounded by the Reward
Of knowing Jesus Christ alone.

I screamed when the light hit me.
The sun seared my eyes.
I was used to dank sheets
And grey walls burdened by drapes.
The darkness was my friend.
For years, I was convinced
That it didn’t hurt me.
Because it did it slowly, softly, like
The words of someone
Who leaves you wanting.
Pleas and soft reasurrances—
“You don’t know. . .
. . .What’s out there.”
Can I not be afraid of the familiar?
Yet, it still took strong arms
To drag me outside.
And I screamed when my eyes
Hit the blinding light.
It was too warm.
I liked cold love, detached love,
Like a suffocating pillow.
Dark love that froze
My heart over time.
The warm light pierced everything
I thought I knew.
It reminded me what it felt
Like to be alive under God,
Instead of living to spite Love Himself.

Before Jesus,
The years were a panel
Of greys,
A paint sample of dreary,
Passing by
With a lack of purpose.
Before Jesus,
My heart palpitated in Me,
Nothingness,
Caught on the fishing hook
Of anxiety
Cast by internal thoughts.
Before Jesus,
Strength was a weakness,
Vulnerability
Reeked of failing trajectory,
Stone-cold,
Unapproachable in self-pity.
Before Jesus,
I waited in secret darkness,
Only yearning
For the limitless grace of God,
Unknowing,
Tangled in lie after wordly lie.
Before Jesus,
I smiled blankly in polaroids,
Unrecognizable,
Fire dormant in my tired eyes,
A lost lamb,
Before the day of transformation,
Immortalized
In the love that will never change.

In Jesus,
Darkness gives way to light.