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.

I Forgive You – an open letter (you know who you are)

I hope you see this, and not just

Every other word from my mouth,

the lilting that could be condemnation,

the rhymes that could be calling you out;

I hope you hear that I know what Love has planned

For you; beyond your storms.

I still believe who you’re becoming is better;

Is loved;

And who you were doesn’t have to exist anymore.

Disgusting

There is something sick inside me, it is

Easier to be ill

I know nothing so well as disease, I am

Better at being sick than any facet of humanity

I would otherwise display.

Fear blossoms, whispers inability

I know better the honeyed pity, the bleeding sympathy that flows

I can manage the gratitude they exude

That their lot has not fallen as mine;

I am better at belonging in the hospital bed

Than any talent I can find

Something in me longs for that familiarity

Take me back where I understand and am understood

The beeps and monitors I speak, the veins and lines that intersect at a nurse’s hand

It is far more ordered than this chaotic land

I have more to offer in the crisp-white room than in this panicked time;

I can offer mystery; blood and antibodies and metabolic panels that defy reason

I hold curiosity; extra collagen and misery

I know not where else to run when

I

Bleed

But

Someone wants my uncertain mess; this diseased, distressed, and homeless wreck

A God so clean, with want of me? How delightfully wrong it seems

But… it is there I surely belong.

Release

Don’t ask me anything you don’t not want to know

The rivers I fold up inside me are bound to break flow

They’ll well up inside and they’ll sweep out my eyes

And my tongue will spiral, earth-bound as it flies.

The memories and hauntings of before that I’d locked

Will gurgle up out on the tide that you’ve wrought

I did not ask to be emptied, you did not ask to care

Yet in the mirror I am crying, and you’re holding me there.

How much easier it is to follow you

In grinding hurt and pain;

How much brighter and clearer the light doth shine

When night has come again;

I seek no answers except my own, and it is readily

A resounding, ‘yes!’ And ‘hurry, please,

Rescue me with all speed,’

I see the clearest surrenders from the foggiest of seas

Knowing who you are is easy, but not when to leave.

You open the door, I stand and call; invite you in, to stay, to grow.

My God and King, the light unto my path.

I will follow the lights back.

achesleep

Someone said,

“You can’t miss anyone while you’re sleeping.”

I closed my eyes. That isn’t true.

I’ve spent hundreds of years searching for you.

Missing you in valleys, in dungeons, in endless time

Every single night in the dark mazes of my mind.

I can lay me down to sleep, aye, and even dream

But missing you is a longing that pervades even sleep.

It’s nights like these that I wonder why anyone

Would ever

Love me as I am.

I cannot help but see the finite in my use; the inability in my body, the inevitable heavy leaning on another that the years will imbue upon my form.

I will not be able to care for myself alone; I will not be able to pretend to be well; I will not survive if I do not allow, or perhaps beg, others to care for me.

And I do not view others in my place as worthless … I do not think of them as lazy, or leeches, or hopeless.

But it is so difficult, reader, whoever you are, for me to put two and two together. I cannot see the value in others and also myself. Somehow i cannot allow that duality, even though it is essentially not duality at all but merely the simplicity of how intrinsic human worth must be. Either we are all of worth or none of us are – there is some old adage that goes to that effect.

But it is so hard, faceless friend, to feel the burden of a broken body already – at 21 – and to be mentally inclining myself to its downfall. Others are planning which classes to take… I am begging my corpse to continue play-acting at life long enough for me to secure some form of a future. A stable marriage, a job with powerful benefits and healthcare… a lucky windbreak to cushion my inevitable decline.

Yet I profess not only with my mouth but with this very vessel – the shattered clay I am bound to – that I am a disciple of one higher than my burdens. His insignia is emblazoned on my flesh at the front of a prowling lion… so where is that faith?

Reader, why can’t I trust my King?

I am afraid. I am tired. Am I lazy? No, not lazy… but most definitely exhausted and undisciplined.

Discipline is a terribly slippery thing to hold on to when there is no regularity in your form. Imagine your skin changes color without any notice, rhyme, or reason. Try to force yourself to match your clothing to yourself each second of each day when your skin could change shades at any moment. Are you going to change clothes every time a new color bursts forth? Are you going to allow the color to settle before trying to match it,

Only to find it has already fled and been replaced by a new tint, equally violent in its contrast? This is, in a far watered-down and gentle metaphor, the unknowing of my existence. It is the smirk the future gives me when I try to prepare for what may come.

I cannot plan far ahead, Reader. I can hardly plan my afternoons.

But I can trust. And I will seek to continue that most basic principle of my faith. If I trust, he will provide, as he always has. And I can let go and be the shapeless, colorless, undisciplined form that I am cursed to be. A thorn in my flesh will not halt my God. I am what I am but I am more importantly His.

And it is to this truth that I stubbornly cling.

Waves

I did not think I could be knocked down again

But time and again now I have found

Myself near edge of being drowned

Taught this well, re-instructed and blessed

Learn-ed by life’s patient fists.

I keep my face above the waves

Just barely, by effort of prayer and strain

Like sand through an hourglass.

Someday my buoyancy won’t last.

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I just want to feel again

Something other than waiting or suspense

Let me remember joy without tears

Give me the patience of love without fear

I’m full beyond empty with courage and loss

What sense does it make – Love,

heartbreak’s highest cost?

Now I wonder when I’ll feel like I’m breathing again

Is it wrong to identify the transitioning seasons

While you live them?

Will I someday stop coping and start

Existing

Again?