Tag Archives: personal

Homesick

We weep bitterly, sickly
At all the suffering on earth
Our hearts most finely tuned to death
And the successive flood of hurt.

I weep like glass is in my veins
I cry and scream til sorrow stains
My soul and leaves me haunted, pained
Like the flood will tear my heart away.

We shake our fists at God
We break our teeth with grinding
How could you? How could you

The aching is crescendoing 
My pain is overwhelming

Yet I do not stand alone. 
This was never my home. 

Lord let me

Why, contemplation leaves me low

And bitter hearts still seek the cold.

I lose myself in time and sleep

An exhausted spirit is all I keep. 
So let me in to warm my feet

And sit awhile beside the flames. 

At once to rest and speak in peace

Forever safe in Your embrace. 
I nod my head and fire climbs high

My eyelids flicker low. 

I’m no longer out in the bitter cold —

You smile and drape over me Your coat. 

Human

Please do not think you know me

Do not think you can read my eyes. 

I am far more wild and cold; your familiar manner I despise

No man could ever know my heart

For I’ve sent it far away; it resides in icy barricades beyond a frozen sea
No one will melt the frost

No one will touch my thoughts

I curl my lip in bitter distaste

All you know is my ivory face. 
Welcome to the savage realm where blood runs black like venom

I tear apart my own veins in disheartening disease

I need to breathe, I’m choking, please

Step far away from me. 

Grow up

The weirdest part of it all is the massively personal nature of growing up. Every human being in the history of the planet has met that moment in life where they paused and thought, terrified, about the future rushing so dangerously toward them. And every human has realized in an instant how terribly near adulthood had grown, and how temporary everything really is. How insignificant. And despite the frequency of these soul-shattering, intensely huge moments; despite this, every single time a child’s heart breaks, to be replaced by the heart of an adult, it feels like the first time. The only time. Every transitioning human believes for a moment that their journey has been the only journey, that this moment is unique to them and them alone; that they, somehow, are different in their jarring realization of reality. And in a way, they are right, despite the likenesses of every other terrified teen that has gone before. Now, for the current petrified youth, it’s just a question of growing up in such a way that the growing is toward the light; and taking that stone cold terror and making it something good and productive for the world to hold onto after our wisp-of-smoke lives are over. 

synonyms

They say it’s ‘drapetomania’
I call it discontent.
I’ve let ‘wanderlust’ invade
With its courteous malintent.

Sometimes it’s ‘lypophrenia’
With its curious shadowy form;
And disease causes ‘dysania’
(Why can’t I make it out the door?)

Whatever word you call it,
‘Sadness’ works in its place.
Someday I aim to feel happiness instead,
Or ‘joy’- or ‘passion’- or ‘grace’.