Is it in the strength
of our bones
That make some
able to stand up
and easily
defend themselves,
Stating assertive words
and walking off
without glancing back--
While others sit meekly,
Laughing off the unease
as a beguiling face
says everything
they want to hear--
Not knowing how
They could retreat
From the situation?
Or is it a choice,
to replace our joints
With mettle
and forget
the complacency
Of our old selves?

The leather belt trailed
Behind him as he walked.
It dragged on the floor, as if
Weary from a long day’s work.
Was it tired of hearing kid’s
Scream? did it wince with
Every hit, wishing it
Didn’t cause them?

A sodden dullness,
A damp rag over my eyes,
Sinking into my forehead.
It covered the aching
Boasting its reign over
My dilapidated mind.

A warm hand swept
Over my skin, checking
It’s rising temperature.
The back of a hand
Gentle on a burning head,
Replacing the towel
I had used to solve my
Own ignored problems—

Was it better to feel
Everything at once,
Or nothing at all?
The thoughts began to
Dwindle, dust in early
Light, until my mind
Was so numb to the
Pain, I couldn’t feel
My Savior’s love.

I blocked out the bad,
The unthinkable, and
Ceaselessly sealed
The cracks in my wall—
How did I wonder
Where all the good
Had gone,
If my mission was to
Let nothing in at all?

When I doubled over,
Knees landing hard
On the gravel,
I imagined I was an
Art installation--
A prospect of pain
For people to marvel at.

When we look at the formative years
Of our lives, in docile innocence,
We see so many faults—
Things we must fix, or else
We risk living our whole lives
on repeat. Is it too hard to think,
That sometimes, we change
Too much, and end up so far
From any semblance of good,
That we are worse than before,
As we were in our youth?

Reality cascaded around me
Like a waterfall before it crashes,
One you fight to break through,
Panting with anticipation for
The gold on the other side--
Except there is nothing more
Than a cave wall, dank
And dark, and full of echoes.

Ribaldric sentences,
Laughs and smiles
that we never meant.
Did either of us really want 

to chat that way?
Or was it a feigned requirement
we made up in our heads
Because we were taught,
as bumbling kids,
That something good
should always be bright,
Cheery, with no room
for the dark questions
And hard lines?

Fake it till you make it.
There was confidence
In his slate expression,
The stiffness of his walk
A methological swagger.
But his eyes of used
Charcoal and leather
Said Something different
What is it you are hiding?
What is the softness
In your heart that you
Are trying to harden?

When I was fourteen,
I stood tall in my skin,
Or at least, I thought
I did. But I was so small,
Taking up just enough
Space, thinking my name
Was not something
To be shared—
I did not know myself at all.

My tears slid under the door
And unlocked its hinge,
Control shaking my fingers,
Finally worn out.

The compassionate *****
Of my Father’s shoulders
Lowered to my level,
Stilling the tremors.

Ramshackle debris of Me
Littered the space,
The results of my own failed,
Selfish attempts.

I handed it to Him, the mess
Of the Room I was afraid
He would devestate, feeling
Only deep relief.

Inspiration overflows
The edges of a lephrechaun’s
*** of gold. And it vanishes
As frequently, as does
The end of a rainbow.

A wall of empty polaroids,
Picture frames of memories
That only existed in my head—
I waded in my worries, bathing
In the darkness of my knuckles

As they held tight to the control
Around my life’s throat—
At the bottom of growth, nowhere
To go but upward, toward the
Light of glistening things, of His
Glory working to shine through
The drapes I closed to stew in

My pain—before I was Saved.

One heart tied to mine, slowly
Loosening as the strings of Jesus
Grew stronger, brighter, fastened
Around a sapling He was dredging
From the soil—when did I outgrow
The other flowers of belief that
Surrounded? To one soul, I was
Unrecognizable, and to others, I
Was only catching up, floundering,
Until I realized He was the Center.

I am a downed tree slowly
Shedding its rough bark,
Growing pale & vulnerable
In the forest of Your love.

I looked down at my boots,

Studied the trailing laces,
And wondered how they
Had come undone.
Were they snagged on a
Small bush, a bramble?
Or in my haste to prolong
The fears I had to face,
Did I duck down and
Untie them myself?

The foam forms rings
In the tide—
Like blown glass
In the light.


The space between the leaves
Shows the words
We never said.


How lonely it must be
To be the missing piece
Of a set.

The illusion of shared smiles
And electrified nights--
Knowing someone basely

On how they were then
without exchanging names.

Even now, I look at those
Who are supposedly
Close friends, and wonder
What makes them more
than acquaintances?

That strain of connection
Appears out of reach,
Poppy seeds on the wind,
Mountains holding hands--
somewhere else entirely.

What is it those around me
Express through pointed looks
And fond gestures
That I cannot seem
to interpret?

A passage of unseen looks,
A stolen question, sequestered
By worries—
Can I see you
For a moment?
Words laid at a doorstep,
Fingers quietly wound together,
A hand holding a head--
Don’t speak,
You don’t have to.
God knows your heart better
Than I ever could.
Bring it to Him,
Fall apart,
Feel the Spirit catch you—
It is not my arms,
But the love of Christ
Supporting you through me,
Gracefully broken.

I am an empty guitar case,
Sitting dejectedly at the feet
Of an unshaven busker,
Lid open and velvet interior
Begging for something to
Be placed inside it—except
I never wanted crumpled
Green bills or rusty coppers.
I wanted a well-loved guitar,
Filling me as if it were molded
To my shape. I wanted silent
Melodies humming under a
Closed cover—life that sings
Internally and is not meant  
For other’s entertainment.

I am made of melted steel,
Sitll holding the title
Of something malicious,
Piercing and lethal--
But in a state that is
Defenseless, harmless,
Unable to defend itself
When approached
With something other

Than words.

My heart is always heavy.
But is it full to the bursting
With joy and purpose—
Or self-proclaimed doubt
And pressure?
Am I full of sadness and
Misgivings, or fueled by

The love of my Father?

She was the villain.
She could feel it
In her heart—
Yet there was nothing,
Not a “sorry”
That could salvage
What she had done.
We are all heroes
And villains in
One and another’s
Lives—
but she still wished
she could be
     only the light

Blanketed by chimney sweeps
And coal dust the color
Of wilted childhood innocence,
I sat before the fireplace,
Crisscrossed, wondering
If my tears were enough
To put out the burgeoning flames
And clean the filth on my skin.
Yet, I knew, only One’s blood
Could wash it away

I saw the reflection in the glass—

The shape of cheekbones
And straight, drooping lashes--
Lips that parted in awe
As they saw the face that
No longer belonged to me—
Only God’s creation.

A sanctum of denial,
Concealing my faults--
A cushion of half-truths;
How many layers have
Amassed over the darkness
Underneath?
Countless years of internalizing,
Clasping the faults close,
Hands like golem and his ring
In my chest, shaking with
The anxiety I knew I shouldn’t
Keep—but cherished anyway,
Secret, mine, a way for me
To feel in control.
How long will I delay
The inevitable breakdown

That comes with realizing
All my most incarcerated,
Ebony-black thoughts
And parts of myself
Are with Him, and He
Only loves me
no matter
how dark
they are.

I fumbled as I fell--
I waited for the ground,
And frowned
When it did not come.
I had failed so miserably
Yet, it frightened me
To know that I could
Fall still more egregiously--
A desperation seized me
To meet the bedrock
And stand on my own

Two feet.

My eyes were deep holes,
Boring into him,
Mouth sluggish as it
Searched for the words;
But they were malformed,
They were broken limbs,
Unable to be righted
So, I pulled out a pen
And placed the paper
in his hands. Read this.

I spoke slow, measured
Because written word
Was yet to fail me
Compared to the treachery
Of my weighted tongue

That’s not what I meant,
How come erasers
don’t offer recompense?
Should’ve used a pencil, not a pen,
As I tried to make sense
of the contents of my head--
Fumbling with my hand,
Trying to use my left,
To craft an illegible land
I am bound to forget.

Lord, I am a mime, pounding
On the invisible walls of my
Own life, suffocating in a box
I didn’t know surrounded me—
Where is the key? Is there a
Loose brick, a fissure in the
Dam? The silence is deafening,
And water begins to pool at
My feet, slowly rising—I call
For help, but my words are
Warbled, incoherent and lost
As they richoet back to me.
The mortar scrapes my fists,
Making the air ******, and I
Call out to you, Lord; I ask
For you to be my home, my
Foundation, not this craggly
Prison I incased myself in—
So many years of building
The walls of distrust as the
Water of anxiety mills about
Me—Lord, let me breathe, fill
My lungs with your spirit and
The love I have been avoiding.

I am drying paint.

I sit back and watch

Myself grow less glossy,

More dull and emotionless.