My dad doesn't seem to notice that I've zoned out.
I wonder if the preacher noticed -- he sure did give me an odd look when I received the Eucharist...
I don't even know why I keep coming here.
Then again, it's not like I have a choice.
I'm dragged here every Sunday and I hate this place.
It makes me question what little faith I have...

Who are you to tell me what to believe?

Who says I won't get into heaven or whatever that "palace in the sky" is?

Maybe I'm already redeemed by my own intellect... ever think of that?

So here I am,
sitting in the House of God with a head full of sin.
**Surely I've been ****** to hell.

We're blind
to what
we do not
want to
believe

You appeal to
my naked soul.

The people I work with are unique in every possible way.
They're all like little divided pieces of myself...
and when I told them that, not one of them even blinked.

"That's deep, man. I know what you mean... I feel the same way."

Finally, acceptance.

They don't judge the way I speak or act or think.
They even enjoy the poems I write and leave on the board.
They accept each other for everything that they are.

--
Jourdan is living in anxiety and takes ten minute smoke breaks to smooth
that rough edge.
("I really should quit, but it reminds me of my dad.")

Chris is a dancer and dances in the bus station when no one can see
that elegant movement.
("Yes, I'm gay, in case you were wondering.")

Myranda is intelligent and I tell her that everyday just to make her smile
that beautiful smile.
("Can I leave my textbooks up here?")

Becky is a singer and sings with me whenever good music plays over
that old speaker.
("Hi I'm Becky and I can sing your order for you if you'd like!")

Danny is practically a comedian and the jokes he throws around are
that ******* funny.
("Stuuuu? Why are you making chocolate pudding?")

Brandon is a flirt and he's constantly coming up with reasons to come to
that front lobby.
("Hey Leigh! Can you put this tip in my waistband?")
--

All of these people are so different, yet so alike.
We get along just fine.
I couldn't ask for anyone better.

Do not turn my bleeding heart into one oozing poison.

"If you could live anywhere, where would you want to live?"
"New York City."
"Why would you want to live in New York?!"

Why?
WHY?
I'd make it in New York.
I'd breathe in the fumes.
I'd create the art that's been in my mind for 16 years.
I'd be myself, no matter how off-putting.
I'd live in New York.

Ask me again.
Why would you want to live in New York?!
My icon loved it in New York.
He breathed in the air of Central Park.
He walked the city streets.
He crafted some of his best hits.
He died in New York.

*"I have my reasons."

my English teacher isn't impressed,
says my writing style is "standard".

so what if I sent her the link to my account?
"Read this, Mrs.Brennan."

I wonder what she'd say...
if she'd think anything of it.

-

my English teacher isn't impressed,
says my writing style is "standard".

so what if I gave her the journal hidden in my room?
"Read this, Mrs.Brennan."

I wonder if she'd cry...
if she'd even care at all.

-

my English teacher isn't impressed,
says my writing style is "standard".

so what if I told her everything  she wants to know?
"Read this, Mrs.Brennan."

I wonder if she'd be patient...
if she actually wants to know.

I could spend hours whispering my
guilt into your skin,
apologies into the curve of your neck,
and litanies against your ribs,
entreating you with my lips and breath and words until you shatter.

The ghosts of our pasts move around us,
laughing and dancing and haunting our hearts.
They are omnipresent, always there.
Yet we choose to ignore them.
...And with good reason.
They only cause tension.
Flashes of memory, that is all they are now.
*We rise above the past.

Your love fills all the white space
on the blank canvas of this life.

I've found myself dreaming of your early morning smile
And wishing that it was pressed against mine

I would rather lose myself in music
than lose myself in strife

You were gone
and my heartstrings were being
tugged
by an invisible force.

**I knew something was wrong.