should I gather

siloguess I should gather my thoughts
should I gather up anything at all

we’ve all been told too many things,
that aren’t valid or of meaning

take everything: silk garments and empty cans
leave nothing
canvas striped green and in my head it should have been
and you’d think I’d get tired of anxiety
but no my mind keeps telling me-
feed me with your worries
drench me in your shame
lock me up inside your darkest times
inside your fear and wring your damned hands

over and over again

feed my with deceptions
drench me in complaints
lock me up inside your night terrors
inside your black loveliness and wring your damned hands

over and over again

I’ll fight back with what some would say is optimism
but if anything, it is an unavoidable hope
there’s something about knowing truth
there’s something about holding it close

sometimes we’ll gather together
we’ll laugh and grit our teeth-
only when the other is looking away
only when they can’t see me

but sounds carry and visions don’t
your vision escapes me-
why can’t I find some type of balance
why can’t I find a hint of peace

lift your eyes, lift your chin
I’ll take your hands and
chapped lips
lift your eyes, lift your head
it’s not easy for me too, ya know.

unavoidable hope turned into tendency,
a tendency to fall and get back up again
WHY would you attach negative connotations to your hope
only because the truth brings so much contradiction
only because the truth highlights friction
only because the truth means progression
means lighting your own desires and again putting them out
and figuring which way is up and where in this place is down


only because the truth means this sorrow is real and, correction- IS REALITY
only because the truth means I have lost and wait, AM I LOSING
only because the truth means I might lose you too
only because the truth means
my words are dust but dust can shine beneath the SON

my only vitality is in-
what I have found to be the truth
And in this truth, alone.

and this gathering of thoughts
amounts to nothing at all
because again I am lost
and thrown out of sorts
because we’ve got bombs going off and
then there are the others who are just sad

and before I wrote this, I wasn’t even thinking of that

but if the truth brings all of this, does that mean it’s false too
mixed up by calamity, It’d be easier to deny righteousness
but I can deny nothing that weighs heavy like this on my heart
I can deny nothing that carries my soul out of dark


LEADING back to my initial goal
to let go of these ideas and nothing more
relax and breathe a little
whether this life that is coming up is cut out for you
is this life that is coming up allowed to be taken one segment at a time?

push my tongue to the roof of my mouth
grit my teeth and think of the

the laugh your grandfather yells out at the t.v.
at one in the morning on a saturday evening
the laugh that claims all ideology and future anxieties
throws them to the ground and proclaims
I can have peace.


this is loud,meant to be spoken, like this: SHOUT
this is a to do list, written in ambiguous form
centered by my obsessive
passionate, altogether
this is to be crafted by my own
hands and lips and heart
caved in and carved out by my own
fingernails, and to be left tart
like unripened blackberries off of the bush
mind says: it’s winter time!
and there are only glass bulbs in the trees,
no fruit, no life, no nourishment
but here i am, i come LOUDLY
because of the plastic chair i have sat in,
and the tile hallways i have walked in
reciting poetry in my head
like the lunatic
like the obsessive, disabled, sorrowful, corroded, alive,
and insightful
full of Camus’ stranger
full of heartfelt characters
that i daydream of
why are the lights blinking, who ever thought of this mode “twinkling”
white lights, white lies
and late night
rampage of my
incessant, obnoxious, surrendering, and altogether
anxious mind

label me lonely,
label me wholly! involved in persecuting ideals
cross my heart with craning necks of bitterness
but i will not stay here, i will only sleep here for the night

the walk that i take from the swinging, thick doors
to my car, red box, littered with ants on my thrown away yogurt can
lasts a life time, lined with desperate steps
held in breaths
what is a day that goes by
with thoughts that make real life
a false reality within
seeping, and soaked up stems




Excited to be getting back into Cyanotype to do some work for the Bittersweet Zine this Fall. Here are a couple of photos of my prints from the early summer.

Check out to get acquainted with my next project which I am so honored to be a part of!

celtic straits

(Updates follow article)

Four years ago today, I posted a blog about my emergency room “miracle experience” after the Aurora Theater shooting. The post went viral, and created some controversy. Does God really do miracles? Why for one person and not another? Does a good God even exist?

I don’t claim to have all the answers. But I saw the miracle with my own eyes. Thank you to those who have asked me to repost this story for a reminder: God is still at work.

July 23, 2012

At Columbine High School, I have seen this before. But not up close.  As a church pastor in Denver, I have worked as a chaplain alongside several police and fire departments. I was privileged to counsel parents just hours after the Columbine shootings. However, in this new tragedy at the Aurora Theater Dark Night shooting, one of the victims was a 22-year-old…

View original post 1,737 more words

for the sake of travel, for the sake of life

let’s go to the big city

let’s forget about our jobs, and the concept of money.

let’s take the car, and enjoy the drive

even if it lasts our whole lives.

because today the pastor talked about the end times,

and he referenced our monsters and troubles,

and the monster i saw was huge indeed

but instead of ten horns he was wearing a cloak of habit:

habitual anxiety, habitual boredom, and habitual lack of joy.

let’s go to the towns with character, and if we can’t leave in the morning

we can make our own towns have personality tonight

let’s decide to love our lives, and be able to reply with a different saying then

“it’s alright”

let’s stop hesitating to discover, to emerge ourselves in cold water,

for once let’s be extreme, and even if it turns out bad let’s not lose sleep.

and i say this because i’ve got big dreams,

i say this because i love good feelings and the way this heat has inspired an

art of living.

so you go and i’ll be happy for you,

but i won’t wait for my “time”.

if i can’t get out now, i’ve decided that this is my “prime”,

because each morning i wake up and each night i lay down,

i’ve noticed my time to be filled with empty minutes, empty hours.

so i’ll sit with the boy all by himself,

i’ll open the windows and turn off the air,

i’ll pull out the paint and put up my hair,

and the only thing i’ll wait upon is the word of my god,

and the rest i’ll take on with insight and excitement,

hope and enlightenment.


busboys and poets

this past february I had my first poetry reading experience at Busboys and Poets at 14th and V in DC. these are the two pieces I read if you’re interested!

Tangled Hair

I want to feel some type of release from the heavy feeling.

Want to know some kind of accomplishment before I soon fall into this

temporary coma named sleep.

I’ve got bits and pieces of myself scattered across virtual pages,

I want to find myself complete in one place, in a simple location I want to be able to come

and recognize my identity at its prime.

Letting letters fill the space in my mind where nothing hides,

because behind each corner is emptiness now,

when you open each door there stands a dark silhouette,

nameless and empty listening to the songs they’ve played and I’ve heard.

Fragile; I wouldn’t demand a glass case for this wanderer in the corner of my mind,

because this silhouette is often thrown down and stepped upon, often bound up and wept on.

Because the tears that roll down your faces, and the tears that roll down mine, are no less rolling

down the outlined identity in my head.

I never intended to make sense, but now I’m confusing myself,

there are steps that one must take to feel a sense of triumph,

and today I have skipped every other stair.

I’ve become like the girl on the playground, the one with the tangled hair.

Her Old Paints

A hardened layer of paint coated the small tubes,

cracked and delicate like aged skin,

I thought of your face laid in the casket.

Leftover thinner glazed the container,

leaving a sticky residue like the sorrow,

which has coated my mouth time and time again.

Their caps didn’t give into my pleading,

Ignored my high hopes and beseeching.

Difficulties and complexities aside, we are all the same.

Behind these masks we hide, pretend to be selfless but found out by shame.


mornings and evenings

everything becomes darker in the night, and stranger in the morning.

it’s like i am running and there is nothing and no one chasing me,

i’ve never felt fear that felt so much like an ache.

i don’t know the boundaries of my apologies yet, don’t know how this situation will turn out, whether or not i will be given grace or coal.

and there’s worse things than this, but it’s all coming down to a thread and like a man walking on a tight rope my hope is slim and unsteady.

insomnia has never haunted me hours before sunrise like this, i’ve never been judged as condemning as this.

my word will not be taken as truth anymore, and i’m not sure how many more nights i can deal with, how many more mornings i can handle, waking up to this unsettled misery and dreary day dreams.

warm day in november

slowly becoming myself again,

realizing the gratitude i hold for these contrasts.

what the highs and the lows make you love,

what the darks and the lights emphasize.

this is not the place to say all that i am thinking,

all that i have learned..

but i will tell you one thing, my god is forgiving.

i deal with a disabling compassion that i am attempting to come to terms with,

and how grateful i am for second chances, for the mountaintop after the valley, for the seasons of life that never fail to bring hope if you look in the right place.

i am in a valley now, and this time i’ve put myself here,

but soon, with strength that is not my own, i could be on the mountaintop.

it’s not about being comfortable, nor is it ever fully comfortable, but it is about battling the discomfort to find peace.

strange the way my mind works and the way our hearts process emotions, sometimes so cold and raw, others warm like this day in november and soft.

so now that i am on this side of it all, and i’ve felt the wholeness of the regret that comes when you hurt someone other than yourself, i can say that although right now i am confused and in a valley so low there will be a mountaintop waiting as long as i endure the climb.

i can’t tell how steep it all is as of now, and that’s the worst part, but it is not my responsibility to slice the future into perfect measurements of time and space, it is my responsibility to get back up and try again.

these simple words bring comfort, but they are not enough.

these distractions are barely noticeable with the constant pull of my conscience.

but days go by and seasons do too, and maybe you’ll understand this truth.


this ultimate conclusion that i am far from perfect,
that i make mistakes..
that the largest disappointment one can feel is in themselves.
but this is the worst it has ever been, because it’s not only my heart this time.
this realization that i have lost myself and my value,
my determination was driven by you, but now you’ve driven far from me,
and the security has left so quickly.
the impending doom that has been diagnosed from the beginning of it all,
loss is a ritual in the house that holds my soul.
and they’ll all say “you should’ve stayed away,”
they’ll all believe differently than this reality.
the silence on the other end is worse than the sound that echoes off of my bedroom walls,
the grasp of my feet being held by the floor beneath me is louder than the hope i have while i walk in these halls.
there’s nothing left for me to voice,
except for this hollow heart i hold.

for trinity and your family, always in my prayers

it seems impossible for me to cultivate words from this sickening stone sinking in my gut,

heavy and rough.

i feel the muscles in my mouth contract and a taste so sour rises to the surface of my tongue

feel as if my shoulders could collapse and my heart could cave in.

i am not cold but i am shivering from this devastation that has so clearly broken their hearts, i am familiar with the feeling of loss, and the way it can shatter all confidence.

but it was not the brokenness that i first noticed it was the strength in this woman’s tone- her heart melted with the fire that invaded her home yet her soul stands strong-clinging to god like we all should be doing daily, but for some reason find it unmanageable.

it could be the visual images that have got my insides twisted, the burnt curtains hanging on by a thread, the melted lamp shade, the ash covered children’s books.

it could be the loss, that i have been so greatly fearing, confronted. morphed into the shape of a house that once was filled with joy and passion and now smoke drenched walls and disintegrated memories.

how powerful can a flame be to steal a home, a place of security, a crib.

god’s grace is abundant even in the midst of smoke, even when it feels you are in taking acid instead of oxygen.

and how did i come upon this conclusion?

by the peace that she puts into words upon a page,

by the heavy presence i feel while staring at these images, blackened by flame, and then the contradicting words below that claim to have hope, renewed by faith.

“The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord

What else can we say in the face of loss?
If I can’t believe in this, then I have nothing” she writes.

i want to say more, to incorporate my true awe over this event but i can’t find the words.

a woman of god faces fire and flames but her soul is not put to death,

a family whose foundation is built on the promises of the lord cannot be burnt down by tribulation,

can’t be tormented by heat.

all these things i hold valuable, all these passions i hold close, if they were gone would i still be able to believe in an unfailing love?

her enduring faith is an inspiration, her determination to find the purpose in the horrible is shocking, and because of this i thank god for his mercy and love.

inspired by trinity’s story:

another year gone by

the bitter taste in my mouth, the massive ache in our hearts,

we will never forget this day and what it held four years ago.

the weakness shot through my knees, the lingering tears to come day after day, month after month, year after year.

it all became so fragile from that day on, everything turned to glass and slowly the world we knew tilted and the vases and jars of our life began to fall off the shelves and shatter.

and now. i still ask why, i still wonder how, and the very core of my heart is like ice, only warmed by my God’s unfailing love and his promises that last forever.

it does not hurt any less, her voice still has the same capacity to disable any numbness i feel. but it seems everything else around us has changed, the rest of the world progresses and moves on- but we do not live by the world’s wisdom, for it has none. the world would call it death, we call it life. the world would claim it hopeless, but we find hope in our lord and we know he is with us, if we were by ourselves, if we were left abandoned, we would collapse beneath the immensity of pain and the enormity of loss.

fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen..

i say this not in a way that we embrace our sorrow, but that we will give our sadness over to the only one who is able to revive.

we are told to have joy in the lord, and that is exactly what we must do.

for what is seen is temporary and what is unseen is eternal..

it won’t be long before we are whole again, and although the gloom we see has the aptitude to steal us, the strength of our Lord has already saved us.

love you kate


you are slime,

slipping and seeping through the cracks of unopened doors,

you’re unwelcome and poor

in character, in spirit, and morals.

you are filth- resisting the urge to let go of your dirt and crumble-

you’re packed so tightly together, show off this momentum you’ve got going and going and going,

but one day, you will stop- your identity will be revealed as the snake that creeps through the earth, the black in between your teeth will show when you grin, that wicked smile that mesmerizes the weak- they fall into your traps, you lure them into your pot from which you will feast.

you believe you can win, but you are wrong..

you believe you will somehow pull this blanket of deceit over our eyes forever, and take us like the night steals the day,

you are unfertile dirt- from you, nothing is born but wickedness, nothing is made but hurt and pain- you might feed off of your ability now but when this time comes and you are proven, before your very own eyes, that you were the failure from the day you fell.. then:

your smirk will be transformed into sorrow,

you will taste the bitterness that you have forced onto us, your knees will fall weak beneath the weight of the load you have so often handed over to us, your soul will no longer be black but it will be coal- crushed like dead leaves and hard as rock, there won’t be any more emotions left for you to mock.

i despise you, stealer of joy, inventor of tragedy, doctor of deception.. treachery, dishonesty, maker of madness and grief.

you can attack us and battle us and rob us of all good things, but you will never own us, because we belong to the King.

inductive reasoning.

this is what helps me let go of my anxieties

when i read these passages that perfectly convey the extremities of my worldly desires

and i know i am insane in this peculiar way but i am alright with it, i (now not always) accept my strange thoughts for what they are after this lure into a world of literature that is so large and intrusive.

this degree of sensuality the writer speaks of is in a way more truth than the definition itself, i do not want to cling to these things i hold around me, materials that i can hold in my hand, but i value the greatness i cannot grasp..

the sense of peace, purity, the joy, the gratification one can only feel by achieving greater things!

so, why? why waste these nights gasping for air? why have i let myself so readily sink into despair and loneliness that only matters to the mere humanity inside of me.

what isn’t too large to find perfect understanding?

my words are too big alone to develop any fullness. it’s all half empty when i look at the glass from this perspective.

but wait! i can move. i can walk, and i can see that there is another way to view this glass.

and another thing, if anyone at all is reading these sketches i’ve made, what do you listen to?

the sounds of the street, of the city or of the trees? the music that enthralls your mind is not a disappearing act, but more like a candle that melts chemically and forms into something new.. wax, which bonds have been broken but consistency still lives. these tunes change you, alter you, what do you let cultivate you?

i mutter these ideas aloud and realize that i am far from where i would like to be, but i accept this season as a time of discovering what is in my reach, and what is not.

silence? i’ve heard it! i’ve heard it echo off of the walls of my heart and the roof of my mouth but no, i don’t let it deteriorate my soul.. not anymore. i accept silence as a privilege now, sometimes more than others, but at least i have recognized that this desolate world holds much less value, even with its noise.. silence is better than this noise. His silence is better than this world.

I am encompassed by the details of my mind, the cracks in my heart, and the weariness of my soul- but no, i won’t let this hold me forever, and i will embrace it for what it is now.. a different perspective than i’ll have after a years worth of time, a different perspective than i will have tomorrow.

how could i live with the enormity of my thoughts if it weren’t for the capabilities of my hand?

i need to do some things

once it’s done, you’ll be alright

you’ll feel free to capture the words and the images that enter your mind,

but then there will be more for you to finish, more for you to fight,

then you will become overwhelmed and in that largeness you will lose your ambition, your determination to find fullness and difference.

there are too many aspects for you to dwell on one thing! too many flaws for you to perfect! too many lies, too many truths, for you to sort it all. too many sad eyes, too many lost hearts for you to feel at peace.

i don’t have to have it all in order, literally speaking it’s alright if my clothes are spread upon my floor,

figuratively speaking it’s alright if i’ve read the first chapter of eight different books, it’s okay if i’ve left a couple windows cracked and a few conversations unfinished, and a dozen letters unprinted, and a hundred problems unsolved, and a family of hardships ignored.

for now though, only for now. just to limit myself from reaching insanity yet again, just to protect myself from this desolate pen.

“we are far too easily pleased”

I will not attempt to document my anticipation to live fully, to breathe easily, and act passionately

Because when I take the eagerness that I have at this moment and try to define it, I lose myself in the anxiety.

That being said I will no longer spend my days contemplating what I could do, instead I will put action into these concepts, like with a puppet, my hand will decide which way the arms and legs of my ideas move.

With a greater insight I will escape the selfishness that sets the motives of this world around me; with a simpler recognition of life at its core I will grasp the root of natural and full life

And as the root grows deeper I will follow it, not letting go of it this time, not losing myself in the thick soil that surrounds me.

I can see wholeness in the midst of brokenness, there’s a way fullness can survive here, most of the time we’re just too ignorant to realize it.

Since I have come to the conclusion that satisfaction is out of my reach, since I have realized that complete happiness is not capable of achieving, I will begin to desire more than what this world offers. I will not be “easily pleased”, but I am determined to live out a journey that is led by the only one who can provide in this impoverished universe where those who are thirsty gulp down sand, and those who are hungry chew on gum. I have recognized the mass amount of fabricated theories and that the silence I heard and continue to hear made, and makes, no noise for a reason.

yet looking back on this outline that I have written for myself I am taunted by the nooks and crannies of this life in which nothing seems possible, and all seems meaningless. all i can do is focus on the sun that will always rise in the morning.. “There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”- C.S. Lewis

just to type.

i want to feel some type of release from the heavy feeling.
want to feel some kind of accomplishment before i soon fall into this
temporary coma named sleep.
i’ve got bits and pieces of myself scattered across virtual pages,
i want to find myself complete in one place, in a simple location i want to be able to come and recognize my identity at it’s prime.
letting letters fill the space in my mind where nothing hides because behind each corner is emptiness now, when you open each door there stands a dark silhouette, nameless and empty listening to the songs they’ve played and i’ve heard. 
fragile, i wouldn’t demand a glass case for this wanderer in the corner of my mind, because this silhouette is often thrown down and stepped upon, often bound up and wept on. because the tears that roll down your faces, and the tears that roll down mine, are no less rolling down the outlined identity in my head.
i never intended to make sense, but now i’m confusing myself, there are steps that one must take to feel a sense of accomplishment, and today i have skipped every other stair, like running away from a dark foyer with a glass of ice water in your hand.

passage from “you shall know our velocity” by dave eggers.

“and all the while I was caressing every wall of my head. I was wandering around my head, teary with joy, wistful even, loving the surfaces, the many rooms, the old rooms and empty rooms…

“but slowly these empty rooms are filled. filled with things so wretched and brutal that you could not have conceived of them at thirteen. and soon you find there are too many rooms, too many occupied rooms, too few empty ones. I walk through my corridors and I open the doors and now it’s so hard to find a room unoccupied or not full of screaming clouds…

“they live in these rooms. they breathe there, i hear their laughter. I try to keep them in the rooms I don’t enter, but they move, and I forget where they are, and when we’re in a room together I vibrate, I have too much within me, I cannot contain my desire–death for them and even me, I will tie my blood to theirs, a line to anchor, whatever it takes, they make me want to end my brain…

“don’t you see that as we’ve traveled, nearly every minute, they have been with me, they have been with me always? I have given you a small insignificant indication of their presence with me. when you shake my hand you shake theirs. when i place my elbows on tables to eat, to look across a table and talk with you, they eat with me, they talk through me…

“the only times they are not with me are those times when speed overwhelms, when the action of moments supersedes and crowds out, when my movements stop they come. when my eyes are fixed they come.”

throughout this novel the main characters’ thought process seems to be extremely similar to my own, strange how I often read as a form of escapism yet literature consistently carries me into a passionate form of reality. i admire this, the way words document emotion, and chaos. the way words press meaning onto existence.


what is it that hinders my ability to feel peace, that strikes at the idea of contentment? and why do i lack the energy to fight it? this fist that is so strong and condemning, this towering object called time, why does it scare me? i’m behind, on many things. i long to look at the world from the eye of a plane and with this view i would be able to divide all aspects of my life with a bold line and even separate the different regions by a river or a mountainous terrain.

“define experience, mark existence, find passion.” says one of the voices.

after seeing the eyes of the lost and broken stare into mine, i find myself right there with them. and i am aware that i am no different from these people i had been surrounded by for ten days, i am no different from the young and the seeking, the old and the rotting, the sad and the violent.

the other voice cries loudly and constantly. the simple sound of sobbing is never comforting, and this voice is seldom quiet.

physical stillness is frightening, limits the possibility of life. and when you’re still it is almost impossible for your eyes not to study the near surroundings. mental stillness might be worse, for someone who is numb to the feeling of peace, stillness could be the subtle kiss of death, whose lipstick stains. strange how i find myself being still, after acknowledging it’s symptoms and experiencing it’s brutality. and here comes another voice;

“you’re driving yourself to insanity.”