The Good News Is,

Past-me, the good news is

The pain all fades eventually.

Past-me,

Don’t you see?

Those memories someday will no longer bleed.

Past-me. Listen here.

You’re hurting over something that will not matter in a year

Past-me, be of cheer!

The stories told of heartbreak old will help you learn to steer.

Dear past-me, so young and cold,

Each step from old-pain and breaks will bring you closer to where you’re meant to be… don’t you see…?

Past-me.

In but months your only feeling is relief.

So just be, past-me, and weep and bleed and fret

Someday soon your dancing-eyes

will no longer be wet

And last-need, past-me, is a harping on such pain.

Thankfully you’ll heal up fast and

Not pull the wounds open again!

So sleep, past-me, and dream of today and currently

When courage stops to stay awhile with his keeper, present-me.

What else can I do, what other

Choices do I have?

If I breathe in purpose elsewhere, it just

Fills me with despair.

If I look to the stars, or to the other leaders here

I feel nothing but despair.

I feel nothing but despair.

If I look out to the seas, toward the endless heaving tide

I feel naught but pain inside,

Naught but pain inside.

Though the world is trickling way

And the currents laugh and grind

I will rise on stone to stay

Praising the God of permanence and time.

My conquests hold no meaning,

every struggle forgotten to the tide

Who will remember repeated days

Of waiting for a better time?

While I beg and choose from morsels,

Stained with wanting waiting-clothes

The world goes on without me

Yes, it counts me just another foe

Should I wake utterly destitute

Or drown beneath the sea

The earth will soon forget,

Will just as quickly bury me.

If I don’t matter tomorrow, nor did I

Matter yesterday

What leave have I to pursue a path

That winds another way?

Though my paces will fade from memory

And my footfalls be heard by none

I will still seek the path of the Father

I will follow the Holy One

If but a single other wanderer

Heeds my lamp through the dark or the fall;

Then my stumbling has broken the curse

My wailing was not without cause.

Though regardless of men, I stand brokenly

I heel crazily to the side

Taunting the enemy with my dependence

Laughing openly at my demise

I am unable, and thus a servant

I am lesser, and so adopted

I know who I am and to who I belong

And though time wears away even stone

I rest, knowing by Him

By Him-

I am known.

Isn’t that right?

What words I carve, what sounds I serve

The whisperings don’t stop.

I hear them call to ruin it all

To let the pressures — Pop!

If I close my eyes, they’ll stretch and rise

And burn up behind my sight

If I breathe like I need, the currents will crease

And sprout my lungs like seeds.

They’re sucking in droughts and I’m drowning throughout

While my thoughts weave impassably tighter.

Why break up the brambles or risk the great tangle?

If I pretend I feel ought like I should never have been taught

Maybe relief will surface instead of the sorrow.

This writing is long because I cannot go home

The risks of my presence are too great.

As long as I write, the darknesses inside

Cannot hurt me or others I love.

As long as I write, the burning tension on my ribs

Will break up instead of burn in

As long as I write

The panic of my mind that I’ve been suppressing this whole time

Cannot! Find! A! Home! At! My! Side!

As long as I write, I cannot die?

As long as I write

As long as I write

As long a

As lo

AS LONG AS I WRITE—

Once in a wonder I while

The minutes away, as I crawl

Through my memories… sifting it all;

Could I have taught myself

To love you?

Or was the denial as real as the apathy?

there is a desperate longing in me to

be loved despite my brokenness

and i hear you say to me

child, i love you as you are,

and no one could ever equal that love.

let it be enough.

Past

Why cry, why wonder

If nothing matters less

Why seek a truth long past,

Long since crumbled to dust

Long since left and destroyed

Why try to make it relevant? Why try to keep it

Potent

It’s pointless poison

Long abandoned and

Forgotten

Let it rest

My friend

How terrible, they chitter, how awful this is

they speak of things that do not yet exist

They are mourning her now but she’s yet

To give in

All they do is talk, all they do is whisper

Their heartbeats do not slow or pace the lonely halls

The way her family does,

Wondering

20 years old

Will she really leave us like this?

notlove

why am i addicted to the tragic

why does my blood sing for the broken

is there something in me, irrevocably

snapped

that makes me gravitate

to those who are as sick as me?

why do i love those with hollows inside

why can’t i seek something healthy?

is it because i have never known health and so

it feels foreign? it feels like I

don’t deserve that life?

 

why does the idea of someone whole loving me

feel like an impossible dream?