what i do with all my haterade now (highly doubt this is improvement).
you swear i’m dull now
like a piece of sea glass
rounded edges from being tossed
to and fro
to and fro
docile now
slave to approval
to and fro
to and fro
but you’ve sworn wrong
behind this ribcage
lies a tsunami
riding to shore
building
to and fro
to and fro
and when it gets here
i will devastate you.
with each smart remark,
it grows
and i swear writing poems about it
is the only thing that makes me feel better
because my dreams about you
are gross murder scenes
marked with yellow tape and bloody handprints
and you’re not the one who gets away
as your lifeless head tosses
to and fro
to and fro
but you have a reputation to uphold
and an image to maintain
as your trees hover around you and enclose your heart
and chant to you and whisper lies
congratulating you with every step closer to hell
as they wave their branches
to and fro
to and fro
reflections on my first year as a Christ follower
- OMG, i am STILL a Christian.
- OMG, God is so good.
- Trinity?!?! Free-will/election?!?! perseverance of saints/sanctification?!?!
His name is so sweet and it only gets sweeter. I want to know him more and more. I will seek you all the days of my life because you will never let me leave. Praise be to God.
the realities of living in a bifurcated society:
if you believe in the american dream, you have have either a) not lived long enough, or b) are a white male.
15 minutes
they say you’re supposed to get up and do something else if you can’t sleep after 15 minutes of laying bed.
what about 24 minutes after the first time you’ve already tried to do something else?
what about 37 minutes?
what about an hour?
what about the anxiety that builds as i count the hours of sleep i’ll get if i fall asleep…right….now?
what about 4:12 am and i still can’t sleep because you’re a FUCKING liar and i am a FUCKING MESS and i am FUCKING INSECURE and i can’t breathe.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Seneca Falls Convention (1848)
Let woman live as she should. Let her feel her accountability to her Maker. Let her know that her spirit is as fitted for as high a sphere as man’s, and that her soul requires food as pure and exalted as his. Let her live first for God, and she will not make imperfect man an object of reverence and awe.
diners and demolitions
you’re not picky at all. your heart picks up women like dirty rags pick up food off the tabletops in diners.
they have ugly teeth and stupid hair.
they wear ugly clothes and low self-esteem. it looks good on them.
so here i am, a piece of corn from the dinner special, stuck in your dirty old heart.
you leave traces of food and that smell of a wet rag left days forgotten, everywhere you trek.
(and i thought i was special).
will they ever leave? will you ever be clean? be free from the debris of the other collapsed relationships?
you wipe your feet at the door before you enter, but the dust trails in.
you’ve been to the demolition site. it’s in your hair, your eyes, the way you talk.
soon enough, you will dirty this house with the dust from the others and i will become the dust you wear inside the house of another.
something i wrote a long, long time ago.
because a man should refill a woman of all the things she has lost to the world. because he should be able to return all those things to her and revive and replenish her. because he can make her whole.
because a woman should support a man who is always so alone in the world. because they take and take and never return. she should be able to quiet and calm his guilty conscience. because she can provide shelter.
