belief – Accepting This

Another Way

This is not working
I am not breathing, in and out like I should
I do not want to live here anymore
in this place where the most vulnerable are
repeatedly victimized
Where brokenness begets brokenness
where weapons are celebrated and defended
more than children
Where protocol or the lack of it
prevents change and assistance
I do not want to live here anymore
inside of this body that carries the weight of
tragedy like it was designed in the shape of a wheelbarrow
and my heart is the set of calloused hands that picks it up
fingernails scraping the dirt beneath it and I can feel every pain
Like the soil that gathers around my cuticles
the dysfunction is relentless
and everyone is telling me to breathe but they
Do not feel what my chest feels like
it is like a burning tightness,
it hurts to breathe in and when I exhale I feel
flooded with sorrow so instead I
hold my breath

Yesterday I said my mind feels like two forks
with the prongs grating together and I am trying
To shake these thoughts loose so that I can sleep at night
but it is all unrelenting
How does one regain control when there is not
a moment to do so?
Even my silence is tormented by memory of the past
and anxiety over the future
I thought that I would have one sacred space in this world
but nothing is immune,
Everything is permeable
and all of this requires an incessant working towards wholeness
or else it becomes fragmented
And I am exhausted
Like the bathroom sink that once was clean
all things require a periodic scrub
all things are seemingly bent towards destruction,
I remember when I first heard the word entropy:
gradual decline to disorder
You were fascinated by it, and I chose to deny it
but now I am not so sure

Tomorrow is the 26th and it would have been his 29th birthday
but he only had 27
I have carried my grief like it could fit in my pocket but it
turns out that it is instead every piece of clothing that I wear
I have convinced myself that it is acceptable but it is not in
any way, shape, or form
I understand the way of death and resurrection in nature, see it all around me
but that does not make my throat soften so that swallowing is not painful
That does not make my body forget what it felt like to tremble on the day that he was buried
I tend to keep myself from writing these words because I don’t
want anyone to feel hopeless
but if I don’t allow them to flow through me like a river
they will flood me until I drown
If I don’t make space for this pain I will soon sink into
a bitterness that cannot be shaken and God, I don’t want to be bitter
because I believe in the tension between all that is beautiful and all that is desperately wicked
so I offer up every racing thought within me
every angry argument and uncalled for reaction
every righteous frustration and selfish motivation
every moment of giving up and giving into the inertia that haunts me
every deep hurt that seems to find no permanent solace
All of the deceit that I did not expect to receive
all of the misunderstanding that I thought wouldn’t be
I offer up everything
Take it, please, just for a moment at least
and If I must carry it again, I will add it to my wheelbarrow of a body
but right now, I must set it all down and see what You might make of it

One Year

February 8th, 2022

It’s as if my thoughts are bound up by the fear of permanence
The idea that if I acknowledge the weight of today
It will sink me into a pool of brutal reality
Where the water turns to ink,
turns to sludge and before I know it
The air that I’m breathing will
morph into a textured sorrow
That resembles something like
quick sand, like a bad nightmare
I could be overcome,
overcome by every emotion that has
been woven through out each of these
365 days with out you on earth

Everyone experiences grief differently
but I believe there are some similarities
like how the phrase
“It comes in waves”
seems to ring true for anyone who
has lost someone that they love deeply

For me,
the waves are still here
Your sister said that
she lives with a lump in her throat
and that is truly what it is like
going on everyday in this place where
we can’t see you

I am torn between reflection and movement
I want to remember you,
to watch videos of you
to listen to your voice and
find photographs that I never knew existed
Want to bring up your name so often
because the truth is that the basis of my being was
built right beside you
My first encounters with joy, adventure, sadness, and concern
were experienced with you
All that which makes this life worth living
are seemingly wrapped up in stories where
you are the main character
the protagonist, the embodiment of vitality
and the ruler in which I measure nearly
every relationship

And then there is movement,
this constant need to keep on going because if
I remain in reflection or even visit it at all
there is the threat that I won’t be able
to continue on, I am working to reconcile
the presence of your spirit and the
absence of your body

The weight of today is like the
weight of the year
It is too much to hold
so I let it scatter,
diffuse into the pockets of time
where I can be still and know
that this Story is still good
It is just drastically different than the one that I wish to read,
It is desperately different than the one that I would’ve written

A year ago today,
I was looking at the ocean for the last time
that I would see it with the part of me that
you took with you in your death
Yesterday, I looked at that same ocean
eyes searching the waves with a hope of
reclaiming fullness
And a simultaneous desire to lose
the rest of myself
All that I know is that
all that is left is what has always been
The only thing worth anything
to love and to be loved
to find rest in the impossibility
The assurance that death leads to life
time and time again

The waves are still here
They are angry and crashing,
cyclical and comforting,
weeping and restoring,
Always seemingly surrendering
I will learn from them
I must learn from them

God With Us

If you were here,
I would’ve texted you a photo and said
“can you believe this??”
As I drove down grandma and pop’s old
street and observed the giant houses that
they’ve stuffed on the plots,
nearly spilling onto the sidewalks,
That used to be yards with small
homes built of bricks and
historic memories

When I turned onto North Nelson
I felt the energy within me shift
I’ve been alternating between
Dull nothingness,
An aching pain,
And a sharp panicking feeling
For a while now, but
Especially in light of the holidays
which were always nostalgic and kind
of sticky
But at least then
I knew what it looked like where you were
and I could check in to see what you were doing
Now I live in a city that
Is a stone’s throw from
The majority of our childhood
The best times together
with plates of salami, olives, and cheese
trays of cookies and jello cake
pop-pop pouring encouragements into silver rimmed glasses
our faces all warm and red from the radiator heat
and the whole family packed in the kitchen like sardines

It kind of feels like our family has
Always been aching, yet still hopeful
I’ve been a witness time and time again
To the way that sorrow and joy can mingle together
It’s like I already know this dance

In all honesty, I’ve been moving quickly through these past few months
Not entirely by choice, just due to the nature of my work
but I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve clung to
The late nights and urgent needs like a life boat
some strange kind of life boat that’s filling up with water
and here I am, standing in it with a bucket

I’m surrounded by people that do not have homes,
People with broken relationships,
seemingly insurmountable barriers
single mom’s escaping abuse
confused children
father’s working three jobs
with out transportation
families seeking asylum
and although I am present
there’s often not much that I can do about it
I’m saturated in a broken system,
Failing policies,
And a community who seems to understand in one moment,
and perpetuate the very problems it’s trying to solve
in the next

Yet through all of this,
I’ve thought of you
Can’t stop thinking of you
And I’m trying to hold onto the light
of how precious it is to be in
A family that chooses hope
To remember that the sole
purpose of advent is to know
Immanuel, God with us
And to carry this concept deep
within my soul
I can move through these
Moments, take a breath in these moments
The gut wrenching moments,
The joyful moments
The numb moments
The disappointing moments
The angry moments
The breaking moments
In every moment
Immanuel

Human

I am a collection of contradictions
in the shape of a human body
My skin is the boundary
keeping the anxiety and confusion from seeping
out of me
I am having trouble staying
comfortable in my comfort
My conviction deepens within me
every time I feel something like happiness
Contentment feels like it is stolen
from those who are with out it
I am trying to separate
myself from everything else
but were we really meant to be that way?
To live in categories and separateness
a watered down version of
us versus them
We’re all doing it on some level
casting away discomfort and pain
But today I read some words from an
unnamed author
And they wondered if
our calling to “cultivate and care for creation”
did not require us to fix things
rather to “reach far into the places unknown and trust that even the smallest brush with the cloak of Christ will make us all well”
and it made me wonder too
Because lately I’ve been caught up in the notion of
fixing things
because these broken things are overwhelming
yet I am reminded in the moments of my
limited language
trying to communicate with words that
don’t make sense
That I am awfully helpless and
I am just a collection of contradictions
in the shape of a human body that is
forbidden from embracing another
And my empathy cut deep when
I walked into her room and found her crying
and all I could say was “lo siento”
I’m sorry for the way that things are
a lot of the time I am prying apart
systems and bureaucracy
attempting to be a human
To see every human as
A human
Tearing down the walls of division that
religion, politics, and pride
have built
Stepping over the boundaries that others have
put in my way, or that I have allowed my
pain to create

To be honest
aspects of my theology are crumbling as I
consider the personhood of Christ
and begin to understand the history,
the reality
Yet I feel like I am the disciple
laying my head on his shoulder
finally listening to his heartbeat
with out fear of what anyone may think
Yes, everything is falling a part
yet coming together
My love growing
as my heart goes on aching
Settling into the discomfort as the baseline
instead of avoiding it like the plague

For the Love of God

lissy tropea jordan · For The Love Of God

For the love of God
Stop politicizing your faith
The God of the nations does not identify with your sides
The God of the galaxies is not concerned with your categories
For the love of God, stop speaking so much
sit in the discomfort of silence and examine your heart
Stop projecting, expecting more from others than you give yourself,
stop painting a picture of how you want to be seen
in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of guilt or prove your personal goodness,
stop denying, stop condemning;
You are not a righteous judge.
Human, think of the conflicts within yourself
the areas of your thinking and believing that
you cannot reconcile or redeem
Do you want reconciliation and redemption?
Surely, you will not find it within
you cannot go a few days with out
opposition and pain
You inflict problems simply by existing,
lay down your pride
And understand that you are not the answer
you are the problem.

You seek your own comfort over the well being of your neighbor
you focus on the materialistic, superficial, and transient
you make idols out of lust, money, dreams, and passions
you lie for your own gain, you love for your own satisfaction
Do you truly believe that a collection of your own thoughts and ideals would bring
hope to the most broken and desolate parts of your country, your world?
You have not defied death or disease,
You have not conquered the grave,
no, you are headed for death and on a
consuming path of destruction
Everything you can hold in your hand will soon rust,
and those intangible accomplishments that you identify with
Are of no greater value than dust
If you are remembered at all after you are gone from this earth,
you will have no knowledge of what they will say or believe
About who you were, or what you did
And if you knew, would that be enough?
You are not satisfied with the words that they tell you now,
their praise and approval does not remedy the ache and void inside of you

Human, each day your body is weighed heavy by the pressure
of aging, the elements of time and space are working together
To prove your fragility and your mortality
Do you see how great of a predicament you are in
with out Grace?

Apart from Christ, there is no good
There is simply fleeting pleasure and
hollow contentment
With out the atoning blood of Jesus
you are left to your own devices
to your own efforts,
emotions, disappointments,
successes, memories, mistakes,
futile attempts at building something that will last
that cannot last,
that will burn up and
if anything at all
simply and solely be a part of the
past
Human, sit with your soul
attempt to cradle the wounds and complexities
of this strange existence,
Slow down for a moment and face the
reality of the grandeur of the skies and
the smallness of your being

I choose the everlasting,
I choose the abundant life
the one that is not dependent upon anything that I have done or will do –
The one that is given full and complete meaning
because of the perfect life of a man,
who was and is God, who was killed
who bled vibrant, pulsing blood for the
nature of my being that
was enslaved by sin
but designed for communion

I live in wholeness now,
because of the breath that returned to his body
and the purpose that was restored to me –
completely and fully alive now,
no longer defeated by the daily
anxiety and hopelessness of the temporary
I live in truth now,
I can see the world for what is is now,
an aching collection of breathing bodies
and immortal souls that will not stop
killing, lying, stealing, fighting,
dying, mourning, crying, deceiving,
breaking, aging, enslaving, and groaning…

Until, the glory of God is revealed
And the nations are healed
and every tongue declares
Jesus; savior of the world.

How do I live now? I pursue Him now,
what does he require of me?
To do justice, to love kindness,
to walk humbly with my God

Have you grown weary yet,
of eating and never becoming full?
Of drinking, only to thirst again?
The hunger within you will
only be satisfied when you no longer
Eat of this world

For the love of God,
dismantle your pride,
turn your eyes

Reasoning

To live in simple moderation,
to accept what I could have changed
to look away at the sight of dysfunction or demise
to fall asleep to the distraction of a screen and
wake up to the rhythmic habits of my own world
Even in this generic approach,
I cannot deny the intensity of life

The weather rages and the stories never end,
the intricacies of photosynthesis in the trees
and the psychology behind a human mind
the endless combination of words in millions of books
each making a new and unique character
I cannot pretend to grasp the largeness of life

The injustice in our laws,
the contradictions in our nominal faiths
the little lies and snide remarks
in our daily conversations

The traffic, a sight of frustration
the ocean, a glimpse of peace
holiday mornings with their nostalgia
and the disappointment of time gone too fast

The pleasure in symmetry,
the components of anxiety
the fear of sickness and the
longing for death or dreading of dying

We must not stay distracted,
or we will miss the point
everything on earth is a foreshadowing of
what is to come or a consequence of what has happened

We must not settle for what our culture has deemed appropriate,
just a little bit of religion or a lot of distraction
materialism and busyness racing in to hold our attention
good works as our redemption
substances as our prevention of feeling deeply
or our means to stay afloat

Shouldn’t an entire world history
and continued actions of
slavery, genocide, and destruction
lead us to believe
we are innately sinful,
and in desperate need of saving?

We are quick to identify
the terror brought on by others
yet slow to recognize the hate
and conflict in our own hearts
I have a hard time seeing how the
world will change
if we refuse the transformation of our
own hearts, minds, souls

I could resort to nihilism,
fall into cynicism,
live this one life with no thought of the next
I could say that all things go,
avoid confrontation through assimilation
but I would first have to deny the artist who created all good things,
I’d have to choose a gaping void over the deepest satisfaction,
the most clear answer to my endless aching

This is a not so subtle reminder
that moths and rust destroy
life moves quickly and what do we leave when we go,
a legacy of family, distracted and busy?
I look to Christ as my hope
a sure and steady anchor,
a purpose for my soul

But when I look to Him,
I’m confronted and convicted of a reality within
his words are not isolated anecdotes of comfort and peace,
they are like fire, burning and refining
“O for grace to discard all hypocrisy,
and to be found of Him sincere and without rebuke…”
How deep the rest that abides in me,
when I surrender everything
I admit to my ignorance,
welcoming your wholeness in my weakness
I wrestle with the absurdities of life
and even my anger with you
but I won’t bask in distraction,
busyness with no real action
Your words are sharp and cutting,
yet your embrace is so sweet.
There is no explanation for living
if I deny you as my King

Humanity moves forward,
clenching on to the past and vying for the future
I remember the truth that each person has been made
in the image of the god that I believe to be true
I acknowledge the mysteries and long to know more of you,
and I refuse to give this faith only a small part of me,
it is either everything or nothing at all.

“Christianity, if false, is of no importance,
and if true, of infinite importance.
The only thing it cannot be is moderately important.”

–

quotes by charles spurgeon and c.s. lewis

Another need for freedom

Let my thoughts not be declared by what my eyes see,
A thousand images on a scrolling screen
Let my insecurities not be birthed from comparison,
Like a toxic breath shaking the foundation of my cells
I want to think on my own again
I want to look at what is around me again

I am becoming surely convinced that this is all quite unnatural,
Checking in on a thousand other lives but knowing nothing more
than highs and lows – the intricacies of humanness are being stripped from us
The need for individuality strikes a wrong chord
It’s a self obsessed world we are making with each image and caption
Whether we love ourselves or hate ourselves, we really have put a lot of
emphasis on ourselves

This is not a call for ignorance, for being unaware
It’s not a call for judgement – we are different and we all handle it differently
but God help me if I don’t acknowledge the stickiness of over connectivity
The way it seeps into the parts of life that were meant to be private

Transparency is to be promoted but it will not come in the form of a filtered, cropped,
and framed photograph
let’s call it for what it is – we want to be known
but this desire is a harmful thing when we no longer experience
the current like it is our own, no longer savor the moments with those living, breathing bodies around us

Many have lived before us, untouched by the weight of a phone in their hand
This is insanity! My fingers have curved to cradle it’s edges even when it is not present
This is an obsession! My chest feels heavy when I have not “checked in” on things
I’ve allowed myself to feel defeated, like my success of the day was non-existent if not documented

Somedays it’s a more subtle kind of thing, others it’s overwhelming
Is there a balance to be had, or should we disengage entirely?
How would we experience the world surrounding us if it were not
perpetually shared for others to see?
How would we love and believe and know and learn
I want to love wholly
to believe undoubtedly
to know with taste and wisdom
to learn with focus and dedication

Not this double tap, swipe down kind of love
not this edited and revised kind of belief
not this over saturated, too soon kind of knowledge
not this quick and done kind of learning

So here is a plea for reconsideration
to stop being so sure that we are in control
This is just scratching the surface,
A plea for refocusing,
A plea for intentionality
God, let us be freed

Still Intact

Let my words be large, let them overflow because my
Dreams are saturated and enlightened and I need to grab
on to something now

The man I love told me that my emotions are compulsive but my actions are methodical,
so let that be true, let me feel deeply but act in patience, in worthy commotion
I want to give, that’s the core of it
he said being selfish is exhausting and
everthing in me agrees

My heart is breaking and simultaneously being repaired,
each moment of realization that she is decaying
and too many things are toxic, and challenging
my heart sinks beneath the surface and succumbs to
hopelessness and then it rips its way back up to the
light again, strapping itself up with encouragement
My God is Greater, my eyes seek Heaven, my soul knows rest

So rolling forward with bandages on wounds, regaining strength with
Each new hope and possibility (solely found within the realm of
believing) I take my thoughts and I marinate them in truth and I speak
them back to myself as best as I can

I spent five days wandering hospital hallways,
I saw the brittleness of reality and the opposition of health,
And then I spent five days on the road, traveling with a dear soul and
I saw the world in ways I never have before
and even in new perspective I can get swallowed up in old trains of thought
and even in virginia mountains, tennessee alleys, and texas deserts
I can see that I am small but the desire to live greatly is embedded deep within me
I know that my sentience is only developed through experience

To live greatly does not mean largely,
no, I do not need more than I have
To live greatly means to live in empathy,
to live with kindness and a capacity to see differently,
to live with flexibility, I have my dreams but I’ll be alright if they
are taken from me
To live greatly is to live selflessly, to stop saying “God make something of me”
and to begin to live in the identity that He has already given me
Free, adored, consecrated, new

I am new each morning because of His redeeming glance towards me,
and how can I avoid speaking about this grace in my poetry?
It is the greatest thing, and with all of this ridding of the unnecessary I am left
with the bare bones of life and my God is the spine

My grandmother has called me her Rock, but I am a small stone
her life has been full and I try to absorb
every sound that echoes from her,
from the spoken memories of her Italian childhood,
to the movements that she makes
when the sun is first rising, and I can hear her slippers shuffling
through the crack of the door of our shared bathroom

Time is fleeting and my small revelations of existing cannot slow it down,
with an aching heart I’ve read love letters of past lives, I’ve watched new
uncertainties develop, I’ve seen injustice rise up like a plague,
I’ve gotten swept away in worry, doubt, and fear
and through all of these things, Time is fleeting

Let my heart break and be repaired, the days will follow as they always do
let my shaky voice settle in the confidence that this place is not our final home
let my prayers be consistent and ever reigning over the temptation to stay discouraged
To live greatly is to live overwhelmed and still intact

When the clouds roll

There are large black crows outside of my window every morning and every evening,
I catch a glimpse of them swooping past out of the corner of my eye
It is strange outside, humid and muggy
the clouds roll over the tree tops and down by their roots
the gravel and bricks have taken on a darker shade
Wet like the sky

My world has been changing lately,
weights lifted and others added on
the responsibility that comes with knowledge has the
ability to sink to the center of me and dwell

Nothing is very certain, not one thought is ever solidified..
and then, I think of you
In every new ideal you give me patience
in every new anxiety you hand over peace

Slow and steady, that’s how I’d rather live
yes quick to be quiet, quick to be kind
but I can do with out the immediacy of a strained life
The nervous tension of expectation will rise before
the contentment of a satisfied heart can settle

Leave me with words, and carefully brewed coffee
leave me with souls and the ease of conversation

Speaking of souls, my social anxiety had a better grip on me before
you, now I can almost approach each circumstance selflessly,
I’ve got everything I need and it seems that notion lightens
the impending judgement that I once felt accurate and overwhelming

My fear of misunderstanding is steadied by your
willingness to understand me, by your stubborn rejection
of allowing a night to end with out resolution
You investigate my mind with tact and endurance,
sifting through surface emotions and wrestling to the core
You give my inadequacy an undeserved second glance,
and come up with words that restore my identity in it’s most
strengthened and beautiful state

When I lift my fingertips to the curves of your face
It is to test if your silhouette is a reality
I’ve felt desperation so deep within me,
this fullness can feel foreign and leave me doubting
but joy in the morning has conquered over my weeping

When the clouds roll and the threat of mundanity
gravitates towards me, I will remember the
way that stillness makes a moment memorable
the way that intentional thinking can
tranquilize the anxiety stirring up within me,

And I will think of you,
and I will resign myself to an assured disposition
that allows these thoughts to be enough for one poem
that allows these thoughts to be enough for right now

In an Effort To Be Productive

The desire to make new things gnaws at my heart when I am not moving,
I try to eliminate the guilt that I feel with distractions, small batches of laundry, and random bouts of cleaning.. so, I stripped my bed of it’s sheets, got the washer running and proceeded to attempt to make some space on “my side” of the closet

The closet that I share with my grandmother, who has become particularly obsessed with her stuff since my pop-pop died. Obsessed, not in the way of clenching photographs or lamenting when she sees furniture from their old bedroom, more so obsessed with unendingly vocalizing that through our moves and the process of building a new home she is missing all of her “Stuff”. This closet is a small representation of how many items are jammed into corners of our living spaces, wrapped up in newspaper, hidden in the dark, only to be found out when someone wrestles through the disorder to open up boxes and find sentimental items mixed with literal trash. I believe she’s formed this relationship with her belongings because it makes her feel she can hold on to the past, she falsely associates the goodness of a life well lived with the culmination of material things.

After throwing away three pairs of my worn out, too-small, or too-big shoes, folding clothes that had slipped from their hangers, and awkwardly setting aside a glass house cradling a frog figurine, a broken violin, and a giant plastic wrapped comforter, I found something different.

Something that did not irritate me, something that had a presence and eeriness to it –
My pop-pop’s toiletry bag sat there solemnly, a slightly oversized red-brown leather rectangle with curved edges and a zipper down the center

It was heavy, a weight that went beyond physicality and laid on my soul
I decided to move forward anyways in my new minimalist fashion – to look at this item with out overwhelm of emotion and solely for what it was – an old bag filled with various items… sticky cough-drop wrappers, expired Tums, an unopened package of floss…
but then there was an oiled shaving brush,
then there was a half used travel shampoo bottle from a beach house we visited many autumns ago,
then there was his cologne – and my sentiment returned in the form of a fiery blanket at the base of my throat and blurring tears behind my eyelids

This stiff leather bag was carried, stuffed, and used by someone I love dearly
and as unnecessary as many of these items were then, and are now
they smell of him, and they make me think of mortality and the fragility of time

My pop-pop was an entrepreneur, a fixer, a joker, a musician, he loved others and was loved by them,
he was stubborn, he was compassionate, he was thankful — always

I remind myself that these personal items, even with all their very real and human characteristics are not what makes my memory and love for him live on

I kept the floss (because I needed some) and a key (which I will eventually discard because I doubt I will be able to find what it unlocks) And for now, I’ll keep the cologne, because it’s scent will inspire a sticky sadness that allows me to visit lost days then reorients my eyesight on heaven above.

The extent of my minimalism ends at photographs, I cannot bring myself to discard of them.
They are time – frozen, and not just the history of myself or my family but of the entire human existence
We make up the world, so this photograph of my grandparents in July of 1947 does not only exist for them, but also as a representation of that day in the past
which may have held a memory of happiness, or an event that disrupted the hope that we often place in this world when we wrongly identify glimpses of heaven on earth

This desire to rid my surroundings of clutter,
to let go of material things that don’t add value or serve a purpose,
is not solely for a clean area that settles the OCD in me but it’s more so a desire to simultaneously live in the very moment that is happening with respect of the past

To give space for my mind to see beyond things and stuff, and recognize a variety of more important matters –
the importance of being with each other,
the necessity to disconnect from irrelevant occurrences,
to let go of thoughts of past and future and solely be present
of making money not because of the fear of not having enough, but with the intent to use it as a tool to further what is truly deemed invaluable in this life
of spending money with the goal of investing into a larger, more pure notion, not just a temporary satisfier or filler of a hole dug by advertising and inadequacy

– Are you missing those around you because you are missing someone gone? Are you enveloped in comparison instead of creating authentic experiences? Do the things that you own serve a purpose? Is that purpose worthwhile? Or do the things that you own cause conflict, in your household or within yourself? Are the things that you own made well? Or was it at the expense of someone else, someone less fortunate than yourself? Are the things that you own stealing peace of mind and potential creative thoughts? Does the way you make money reflect what you value? Do you need all the money that you make? Are you forfeiting personal contentment for status or justification by those around you? –

We have decided that these questions should be less common then “how are you?” and “enjoying the weather?” for the sake of convenient conversation, but if we really want to know the state of our being and the wellness of those around us, we need to accept that our lifestyles cannot be compartmentalized, it all works together, each thing makes up who we are and the quality of our living

My pop-pop’s toiletry bag could’ve stayed in the closet, could’ve been found by someone else, but In An Effort to Be Productive, I discovered it and developed a train of thoughts that would not have been there before

As I move on in my attempt to rid my life of the unnecessary, I will
remind myself that things are not what make up the personalities of people,
that our accumulation of stuff is not the reason we maintain memory,

That which does not hold purpose, could still hold meaning, but I am meant to be alive now
to be awake now, to be real and true now

The past of my own and the history of my family has made me dimensional,
given me perspective and carried me through time
I desire the validity of my character to be made up by attributes, to escape the distractions and crowded closets, to eternalize memory with out the need for physical items

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth,
where moths and rust destroy”

The state of being subject

It’s rather interesting, the way
that the days go from high to low
to nothing really at all
And the weather changes,
and all of us people talk about it like
the temperature owes us some kind of consistency and when
it gets mixed up in february we find it a
conversation point and I’ve caught myself
saying more than once “can you believe this?”

Can you believe this? Can you believe that all the days
we’ve been living, have lived, and are yet to live
are just like the wind, coming and going
and how is it that we can go even one moment with out
asking ourselves some type of existential question?

I’m tired of seeing the people I love live like they do not have a choice,
Tired of saying over and over again, “it doesn’t have to be like this”
or being afraid to say those words aloud in the moments that matter

I’ve been spending my days getting rid of stuff,
all of this stuff that I don’t need and this stuff that’s been gathering
dust and taking up space and there’s not enough time to be weighed
by clothing, and half used bottles of nail polish, and baskets of literal stuff that I haven’t touched
for more than a moment – only to move it to another place

We’re constantly just moving our things around,
sliding an old letter from one side of the table to the other,
reorganizing our to-do lists so they look kind of more completed,
switching our anxieties from urgent to subdued,
hanging up our depression for the days that we can bare it

Oh it doesn’t have to be like this, it doesn’t have to be overwhelming
It doesn’t have to be disabling, it doesn’t have to be isolating
Life doesn’t have to be this great big burden that we bare with
no solution, no identified purpose and let me just be blunt –
If it takes a glass of clear liquid to get your nerves settled
you’ve got to admit that there are things to be fixed,
And you are not with out the choice to make a change

I’m talking about the moments that eyes sag like
a bag of wet clothes, and body aches and disposition takes on
the form of self-pity and imprisonment, you’re the one holding the key
and you are not serving the “greater good”, you are serving your pride,
and it needs to be met with reality that this life is shorter than anything
In the end no one will remember the great things you made
but they will remember the time that you gave
and the time that you took away

Let me just be blunt – we are running out of time
and I’m tired of seeing the people I love live like they have no choice

You can say over and over again that the next time will be different,
but your words will turn to poison with no action,
they will rot your good intentions and leave you feeling
less than before, do not believe the lie that we are inherently good
we are far from it, and we need to acknowledge that
saving ourselves is like trying to write a novel on damp paper
and saving ourselves will always be an eternal attempt

My words sound harsh but if you knew my intentions you would understand,
not everything is adjustable, not all things are in our hands
a lot of circumstances are invincible, and all consuming,
but we’re often wrongfully caught up in what we cannot do, if you could
understand what I mean when I say you have a choice
you’d feel a hopeful conviction to live with vitality,
to ignore the temptation of mortality.

how long will it take

Oh, how quickly we whine
at the faintest resemblance of discomfort
when we are inconvenienced or set back

How eagerly dissatisfaction sets in our brow
when we are told we cannot have
What we believe should be ours

And how vastly we believe
that this life was meant for our own taking,
when in actuality we have been given something
Far greater (or less) than what we deserve

How long will it take
to find contentment and
an amiable disposition in the midst of ever-changing
flaws and thorns and circumstance

Uneasiness is rooted deep within me, I won’t be dishonest
the second confrontation surfaces, my insides shake up and
my ideals crack like the autumn leaves on a paved road

I want to fix everything, and everyone around me
What a fool I must be, to ever believe that my own imperfections
will not get in the way

I want to bind up my wounds, and yours
and even when my intentions are good they
rot beneath the speculation of others,
and when I feel my thoughts carving out
craters in my mind in an attempt to uncover some
hidden solution that will smooth out the
knots and gnarls of existence

I come up empty,
always empty on my own

So I’ve gathered up my greatest inquietudes,
I’ve got plenty now but I know there will be even more soon
and I’m giving them to You

To You, I give my pride and my desire to be with out thorns,
my inability to satisfy every echoing demand,
my selfishness in the state of change,
my fears of displeasing and being displeased

Because dismissed anxiety is like a venom, it stores up in my system
and brings on symptoms that I cannot bear

I won’t discount the reality of these
unsettled situations, but I will not reduce the sovereignty
of an all-knowing God in light of my discomposure

Wake up, to the thought that response remains
the primary concern
my response to You when I am:
in pain, uneasy, at a loss for words, helpless, overwhelmed, taken under, sorrowful, dissatisfied, aggravated, distressed, disappointed, angry, or a thousand other things

let my response to You be only
praise, and I know I will fail at this but God
then there is your grace
and I know I will take it for granted but God
then there is your peace
and I know I will be anxious again but God
then there is your hand and you reach out to me
and you are present in all of my responses and lacking
and why in the world did you think of me?

And how long will it take
to recognize the veracity of Your character
and the weakness of my own,
my flaws and thorns and circumstance

How long will it take
for me to loosen my grip on this
idea of perfection found in anything
other than You

You are the only one
to save us from ourselves

something beautiful, something good

It’s moments before my twenty first birthday,
the humid august air runs through the open body of my
black 2002 cabrio convertible and I listen to the
CD player spinning sounds of heartbreaking hymns

I recently came into possession of recorded audio of
my pop-pop playing trumpet, converted from cassette,
once upon a time they nicknamed him harry james
because he played magically, igniting raw emotions
with every trembling note

tonight, the absence of his body on this earth
has taken the form of visions in my mind,
I can see him playing, using the same hands that
I used to hold in mine, the same hands that I would
lay thick layers of lotion on when they became old and cracked,
gold bond would gather around his wedding band

I can see his glasses wiggling on his nose
as he inhales, I can see his thick eyebrows
rising with the melody, sinking through the bridge

“Something beautiful, something good
All my confusion He understood
All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife
But he made something beautiful of my life

If there ever were dreams
That were lofty and noble
They were my dreams at the start
And the hopes for life’s best were the hopes
That I harbor down deep in my heart
But my dreams turned to ashes
And my castles all crumbled, my fortune turned to loss
So I wrapped it all in the rags of my life
And laid it at the cross”

I can speak of restoration in an all together honest way,
and how grateful I am for this ability.
I can promise you that the bitter sorrow I have known
has made this deep joy all the more wonderful

I have a multitude of words within me that I am desperate
to write down, I have a thousand thoughts of thankfulness
for the way that these years have revealed the tangibility
of a loving, sovereign creator

How strange my collection of days have proven to be,
but how beautiful it is to be made new over and over and over again
I have found myself in awe of the goodness that has overcome
the view of how I naturally perceive this life

It is something beautiful, something good
to admire the present and a nostalgic past
something beautiful, something good
to extinguish loneliness with the truth
something beautiful, something good
to settle upon surreal peace in the evening
and to awake hopeful in the morning

a content poem for all the discontent that came before,
a content poem for all the trials that might await
a grateful soul, for always

patient stanzas

I’m thinking it shouldn’t be this easy,
that you or I should say something wrong
that the morning should turn to afternoon,
and with the evening conflict will come

I’m feeling it shouldn’t be enough,
but I’m left wanting more in the most
satisfied way, like the end of a good song
with the rest of the album to spin, echo and play

I’m hurting and sad most of the time,
but a smile often interrupts my aching body
and breaks my habit of anxiety
when I see you, it’s like a light turns on

I can’t think about my grandfather too much,
I can’t believe he’s really gone
but when I pray to god I see him with her
and I’m overcome with the thought of eternity,
more real than all that’s in front of me

These are simple words for a reminder
that love does not stamp out imperfections
but seeks out goodness past first glance,
that love is patient and thoughtful
and patience is the lack of anxiety in
time of waiting

Patient stanzas for a string of days that
were once ridden with such intense fear of the future,
I’m not so afraid anymore,
not all the time like I used to be,
and it’s easier to daydream now
because I’m more content with this reality

If I start my morning with praises,
end my day with prayers
I can see the goodness that’s waiting
and an abundance that wasn’t meant for
someday but for every new day

Simple words to say I’m tired but I’m not weary,
to believe that nights of stillness can live
among times of agitation
to comprehend that rest is the most
glorious, and contentment comes in the
form of deep exhales and admiration of the clouds

So, when my mind wanders to the familiar sorrows
to the leftover aches, to the visions of those I love weeping
when my nostalgia heats up like a hot glue gun
and my sentiment stumbles over my thoughts
I will try to remember the patient stanzas,
the eager hope and satisfied heart that rests on me now
the light that turns on, the peaces that melts like wax and
maybe then I will welcome the presence of repletion
in both times of drought and the
conclusion of a feast

A series of wants

I want to be stronger,
to not feel aching and zinging nerves
stretching through my neck and hands
like sand scratching the bottom of the ocean

I want to see my parents
everyday, to make my father coffee
and read the clues of crosswords out loud
to my mom while she sits cross-legged on the couch,
With her glasses on

I want to be bigger than comparison
to not let my mind get wrapped up
in the disabling perception
of bright images and larger smiles

I want to have wealth
in the form of travels and adventure
in the shape of a rectangular kitchen
with floor to ceiling windows,
a small sunroom turned cafe on the end,
and a copper tin roof

I want to help others recognize
the capacity we each have to form
new thoughts and original ideas
the way our minds are vast and
programmed for dreaming

I want to never feel the
gaping hole in my heart where my grandfather once was,
or where he once was,
or where she once was

I once found a quote that my gram
wrote on a postcard labeled “With Deepest Sympathy”
it read “when you are sorrowful look again in your
heart for you shall see that in thought you are
weeping for that which has been your delight”

I’ve been sorrowful always at the sight of sentiment,
and I’m always trying to turn that sadness into
a thankfulness for what once was and what is
to come

I want to be in love effortlessly,
with life and the people in it
to never have to work for sweetness
to never have to scrape out the seeds
of bitter feelings and frustrations,
or old times and scarred memories,
rooting in my heart and mind

I want my own home,
with a bar cart and special glasses for
different cocktails
copper bowls and kitchen utensils
and a pantry always stocked with ingredients
to make bread from scratch

I want to fix all of it,
all of the unfixable things
from poverty and broken lives,
to the tension that rises up out of awkward situation
from the disbelief and anger,
to the lack of good music on the radio

I want to be talented,
to truly believe that I am good at something
and no longer seek validation from
heightened numbers or passing conversation

I want to see Japan and Argentina
and Greece, and Iceland, and I want to photograph
it all with a film camera and hang the prints over my bed

I want to feel free
from guilt and obligation
to only be uplifting
and be rid of my selfishness

I want to be a person
who never misses a birthday of a friend,
family member, or acquaintance
who sends post cards in happy times
and writes letters when life is stolen away

I want to always please
to never disappoint
to always give my best
even at my worst

I want to not want
for anything other than the
wholeness of god within me
the completeness of his character
overwhelming the inadequacy of mine
the contentedness that only
comes from his grace extending
over my flawed disposition

Lead me to contentment despite circumstance
lead me to satisfaction disregarding fullness
let me exist only as what I was built up to be
give me the wisdom to know what desires should
consume and which should die

Sought Out

My voice rings back, as I say that I am for or against
I wonder if my opinion could weigh heavy enough to change another’s mind
It seems impossible, to trust that revelation could come with time

I told you that it feels like another life
With out you, I know joy for what it really is
A sorrowful understanding that the answer does not exist within

I want to stretch out my deepest feelings to reach you,
There is an abundant amount of hopelessness here
and I remember it in the quiet gaps of time that announce
their presence in the movement of air thrown from a ceiling fan

I’m taking these steps in front of me with a fearful
realization that I’m moving further away from you
but it’s true, this movement is long overdue and I am
now seeking out obedience for its redemption and necessity

There’s a newness here, I am believing it to be good
but with change comes a constant voice of uncertainty
Let my voice be small and far away, Let Your voice be
like the clouds that hover over rolling hills and relieve
hot skin from harsh sunlight

I’ve sought out a savior and in you I’ve found,
All that’s behind and ahead is alright somehow
In my moments of anxious thoughts and furrowed brow,
let your voice be clear, let your voice be loud

I’ve sought out a savior and in you I’ve seen,
All that’s above and below is greater than me
In my moments of discontent and guilt feeling,
let your presence be known, let your peace find me

Not a Draft

My own body had to stop me,
time has been moving too quickly
hours feel like minutes, and before I know it they are gone
You are gone now
And it’s odd now

Stepping through reality like a daydream,
there’s too much to be done to just stay here
Guilt keeps coming upon me,
wrapping its uncomfortable presence around me
like a blanket but I’m already too warm

Guilt for not being there, for every moment spent away
when you are mourning I want to lay with you
Hold your hand, hold your heart, hold your head up

I’ve kept myself from writing, because these words should be of you
They should be about loss, about your body when it was here and
lifeless and I saw it and it broke me up
they should be about legacy, and a life lived well
and these words are just letters strung together
they cannot weigh as heavy as my heart, they cannot
contain the tone of your trumpet playing off
of a scratchy cassette in the light of stained glass windows,
lingering throughout that cold church on a hill top in maryland

Now, I’ve come back to these words with more to say
How do I convey the speed of these days, all melting into each other
lines bent like heated clay, I think I am content
but then again, I am sinking beneath the face of
commitment and I’ve got to come up for some air

If it weren’t for you, O God
I would be nothing
Not in the sense that I am now something, or that I am a success at all,
I’m a mess of a human, but if it weren’t for you my soul would be
like a bag of wet sand, gritty and slumped into a
stagnant shape sopping with sorrow and anxiety, but God you have saved me
from myself

I reach out for something to hold on to,
loneliness has always encamped herself around me
forever in my line of sight,
I feel her when driving on the highway
and before falling asleep at night
I feel her when I talk to someone, and I really like
what they have to say, but I know their words will come
to an end, and silence will occupy what once was their space

My grandfather loved me, I saw it in his eyes
his love alone rests on the outer edges of my aching heart
when I awake in the morning,
the leftover feeling of his absence cracks into
a thin film of sentiment and manipulates my
day into a constant glance towards heaven

It’s true, this place isn’t my home
It’s not yours either
so even if I’m always overwhelmed, I know it cannot be forever.

Is this enough for me? Can I at least let go of these stanzas above?
they still do not yet feel quite good enough
I’ll have to allow myself to take more days
and I haven’t forgotten about you, and I won’t forget about you
and I haven’t said enough, but I’ve already said too much

A love poem

love and admiration are two very different things,
their coexistence is not rare but it is distinct.
I admire the way you allow your father to speak to you,
even when each word strikes a nerve and resembles
the early mornings, walking to school,
when you would toss a mold covered english
muffin into the trees behind his town home.

love and admiration are divided
when care taking becomes a heavy burden,
like a sack of flour on a slaves shoulders –
he bears it, but it’s ability to become something more
will never be his to take and enjoy

I love you when your hands are too heavy to lift,
and the nurses outside the door are aggravated because
you’ve fumbled over the help button on your
life line remote hanging on the plastic bars of your bedside
one too many times

I love you with each forkful of store bought chocolate cake
that I lift to your mouth, and I pray
that your tongue would bring you life
That your tastebuds would ignite
the memories of when I admired you,
and fed you every evening after work
and fed you dessert, when you could use your own hands with out help

I admire you when you walk me through crowded hallways
and bustling kitchens, through laundry rooms and
construction sites, and lead me to the elevator to send
me on my way

Love is not circumstantial
it does not ride on actions,
or hinge onto emotion
Love outlasts and outlives admiration

Although admiration means the world
It means lighting up because someone else is brighter
It is selfless in it’s wholeness and although often temporary,
it is sweet and seemingly taken for granted

I am living in a state of admiration – or at least attempting to be,
I’ve got this new kind of emptiness beginning to grow within me
distance has put into perspective the most important parts
of my existence, but I’m trying to admire it –
I’m trying not to ache for what used to be,
I’m trying not to be anxious for what has yet to come,
I’m trying not to let any days go to waste

but sometimes all of my trying leads to an organized chaos
my efforts will never be enough to keep
a steady distance from slight implosion

When you’re angry, I love you
when you are cooking in the kitchen with a towel slung over your shoulder
and humming along to duke ellington, I admire you

When you’re leaning forward on a wicker chair,
speaking to me of your greatest memory
in your most sad time, while you twirl your
golden hair glimmering in the fluorescent porch light
I love you, I admire you

You are here one day, and might be gone the next
but so am I, we’re like the wind and the mist, and
all things that come and go

You are here always, and when your body goes
your thought will stay
I don’t think I will ever wake up to remember,
that in each new day my heart will again break

A love poem for the empty days,
for the waiting, and for the many faces and
souls existing in another soul’s world
I love you, I admire you

the practicality of living during sadness, in the mundane

On the days that you can,
Do Not Lose Yourself In The Mundane
On the days that you can’t,
still wake up, fix your bed
make yourself breakfast, toast and eggs
open the windows even if it’s hot,
especially when it’s cold

On the days that you can
build something –
use words that build up each person around you
and if there is no one around you,
still speak aloud of the things that are good
Identify your heart and the ability it has to fold
beneath emotion and pressure
Recognize that you are existing and
that is enough some days

On the days that you can’t,
Don’t watch the television, read books
and if you’ve got to rest, watch a good film,
one made before 1970

Let yourself dream about the future,
but don’t get lost in it
Think about how you’ll someday have a home
With a kitchen that has windows from ceiling to ground
You’ll think about the places you will travel to,
the people you might meet
Dream about the future, but not with intent to forget the past
Dream about the future, but do not stop living now

Walk outside, crunch leaves under your feet
And breathe in
Stop feeling guilty for being sad
stop feeling guilty for feeling guilty

Let gratitude invade the parts of your mind
where there is no thankfulness left

When you have to go to work
Let your eyes see what they haven’t looked at before
When you are driving,
listen to The Beach Boys, or the soundtrack
to your favorite film

Drink Coffee, Eat Bread, Go Somewhere
Be alone

Don’t attempt to muffle your sadness with the company
of people who do not acknowledge that it is there,
or people who talk about other people

If you can be with friends, be with them
but know it is not worthwhile if when you come home
you feel more distant than when you left earlier that day
There are people who are for you, find them

When you are alone,
write down everything you’d like to do
(but it’s alright if you can’t do it all)
Don’t try to improve yourself for the sake of being better,
come to terms with defeat and the fragility of yourself
and then look up
You’re made whole, if you want to be

If you begin to feel restless, or purposeless
Don’t try to move fast all of the sudden
Pick up one thing at a time
Take each day by itself

When you look at a calendar,
and it’s numbers are glaring back at you
and it’s weeks are overwhelming
Remember that there have been many days before this,
and you are not the one who has to call the sun to rise

Listen to good music,
the kind that makes you feel a part of it
become familiar with lyrics and tones
and learn about the people behind the noise

Take photographs and keep them to yourself,
get them printed and when you go to pick them up
look at them in a parked car before you drive to the next place,
Realize that you’re creating a world that no one else has seen before

Some times it will all be overwhelming,
Other times it will all be stagnant
sometimes the idea of “there’s nothing you can do about it”
will be relieving, other times it will be a defeat

The practicality of living during sadness, in the mundane
Hold onto the idea that vitality is a real thing

// written on November 6th, 2015

years later

let my heart rest,

although time runs through my fingers
like liquid, or grains of sand
although each moment gains momentum
and my whole soul weighs heavy at the sound
of silence, or the sound of her voice
(I am older now than you ever were)

let my heart rest,
because the night can come smooth
or it can steal, darkness can be the overcoming
abyss that it is
but my heart, it will rest,
because years later I am echoing the
hope that has been written across my
bones and the vision of eternity becomes
more real with each passing day

It’s easier to become numb, and to let
the ache form callouses and corruption
of feeling and it’s no longer freeing
But this time, I’ve been broken up
and aware again* of the ability of loss and
(AGAIN*, all the things of today arise and remind me of old:
Pink Lilies smell like Funeral Homes Pink Lilies smell like Funeral Homes
That is NOT Her, she is NOT there, Her body was just a case for her soul
We Lost We Lost We Lost Gone Gone Gone)
The terror of grief and that
seemingly god-forsaken moment in the night
where gloom and desperation
charge at the idea of ever hoping again

The state of despondency is my greatest fear,
lurking at my bedside when I fight to get up in the morning..
and how my heart aches, so deeply and intensely
when I see that fear approaching the ones I love
and I can’t help but to cry out to God
to throw myself in between and pray that
my weary growl will scare it off from ever
grabbing a hold of someone else’s heart

There is a multitude of emotions
that trample over the people left after death
A range of detestable sentiments
and they will not leave you unscathed

But I will still say; hold onto hope,
destruction has no reign here
Do not let your heart
become hardened with worldly time
Let your heart rest,
for with every ounce of pain
there is new hope and wholeness multiplied.

years later, I am sitting by a fire,
listening to voicemails that are not hers,
and aching all the same
because I remember the longing that comes after loss

years later, I am seeing her absence
as more of a normality
and it breaks me up,
but this is no time to be broken

I am not a hopeless being,
and neither are you
lay down my doleful spirit
and pick up joy again
my heart is, and will always be at rest
so that yours can someday find fullness again

Look Back

never thought it was a good idea to Look Back
I’ve always known not to do it,
I learned this when I was twelve and the outside
was getting soaked and I knew it then that this
place was not a good one to be, I can write of those
Times where the floor was always cold and I
was always afraid to see my family
because I knew how sad they were and would be,
and every word that people would say,
After she left, stuck in my head I used to repeat
them, and above everything there was doubt
in the reality, for this couldn’t truly be happening

Round, wet, tears swelled up from
our stomachs and set free from the eyes
I think sometimes, was this the start of
a never ending stretch for redemption?
I think, were our hearts so low,
buried underground with her body,
that this was the beginning of the attempt
to dig ourselves back up to air and living?
this is heavy but this is how we know loss,
and as the days went on I remembered not to
Look Back because there everything was laid
out and time moves forward for a reason

Years later and many incidents
good and terrible, and in between have taken
place, new things have shared space with
an original ache but I never thought that
Looking Back would bring weight
that I’d pick up and desire to carry again
Turn my head to move
these eyes through the situations that
have brought on newness, I will not let go
of the idea that every morning is new
that is the only thing that lets me sleep at
night, a chance for a beginning that
does not hinge on Looking Back

But I am made up of each ounce and second,
each measurement of time and space
builds the canals and caves in my mind
and in the Looking Back I am reminded
to move on and up again

—

the poem above was inspired by something that I wrote two years ago. “If I were sad again, sad like I used to be” is a reference to a time when I first began dealing with depression, years later I wrote this after gaining some clarity – to remind myself of the way that sadness is a detriment to living with vitality, and that, if at all possible, it is necessary to choose joy:

“…and if I were sad again, sad like I used to be, I’d tell myself to think of the days and how quick they go by and before you know it you are writing to end another day and before you know it you are waking again and I’d say, sadness is worth nothing, just be joyful in each moment because that is all we really have. joy springs up out of a heart who is set on god – joy nourishes and knows sorrow but does not let sadness remain heavy and bitter. I’d say be joyful always – joy makes a lifetime of quick days count for something. sadness takes away life and health and all things sweet.” June 22, 2013

Drenched Again

There are remnants of you
in everything I do
like moisture in a bathtub
dried up only to get drenched again

and you, there are small cracks in my mind
and you pry at them until they become gaping,
welcoming yourself into what was once stable
and satisfied, and before I know it I’m bent out of shape again

curved where there was a right angle,
I had that thought perfectly squared away
but the surrounding of chaotic commitment is like
a siren, warning that all the safe places I’ve
built up will soon become unoccupied
_

Terrible is a word that I think of often,
I like the way it sounds for some odd reason
when I hear that something Terrible is going on
I will say it to myself: “Tare-eh-bul”
and I will bow down at its heftiness
because although I like the way it sounds
I know its weight has unbearable consequence
_

I can claim a grander peace,
and an overwhelming freedom
but what I’m still working on is getting
you, and you, and that and this
gone from my head and replaced with silence

I crave the quiet, the way it melts into a tangible
presence in between the bones in my head
Not the quiet that lets my thoughts ring louder
but the quiet that gently crawls right underneath your
cheekbones and beneath the bridge of your nose
To let a stillness raise a calm cure to the anxious
_

So, tell me of the house you grew up in
so I know that I won’t forget mine
Read the last words someone sent to you aloud
so I know that we’re not all wandering in a mirage of people
Write to me the way the scent of the morning smelled
so I can remember what it was like
to wake early and live forwardly

Caught in motion, solely to realize I’ve never stopped,
times of ultimate surrender happen on a daily basis
so can I claim that I have surrendered at all?
Continually letting go of claims that I swore
I dismissed and one day I will sit in the quiet
and I will remember the noise, and maybe I’ll think
fondly of the times that you, and you
And this and that were on my mind and
my soul stretches across thin paper and
sopping bathtubs,
only to be dried up and then drenched again

centuries-old

oh my, my head is spinning in circles
my sanity splitting at the seams
how is it that I am caught off guard
by horror stories from centuries
Ago, I am still in shock by the state
of this world

how do we believe
that there is any good in us
after hanging and killing and
humiliating and terrorizing
other existing people made up
of the same skin and bones
the same flesh and eyelashes,
fingernails, look at our individuality
only to say we are all the same

pigment and preference, and
uncertainties aside we are built up of
matter and doubt, of intricacies and
I will not ever allow my senses
to be numbed by the endless
noise, it’s so loud here!

Can’t get my mind right,
and on my drive home I started to think
of my heartbreak as a luxury,
a luxury that I once had –
to love and to be loved
And this exit from relations
is not intended to be my demise
I looked into the homeless man’s eyes
And I saw myself reflected
I can’t stand it
I can’t stand it

Oh god, how do I handle
the weight of this world and the
seemingly hopeless situations
looking back on our scars as a nation
and peering forward within the repetition
of history but I am so small within
the greatness of tragedies and
any peace that I’ve ever known
had to have been false or holy
there is no getting around it

I let these words shape my anxieties
into a solidified form
and although my ramblings will never
gather this disorder into
a frame, I can let the letters
slip through my misunderstandings
and let these notions go for
a moment, just to find my way
back above water

There is more that I have got to say,
there are more exclamations and
my lungs plead for a break although
I am sitting in silence
they feel the strain of the marrow
within me and they cry out
for an escape

Let me tell you it just keeps on going,
and the incidents aren’t ever revoked
or erased but only eradicated in the minds
that wander in the evening and will never
know rest while still breathing
I am alive and healing
all while being hurt and misconceiving
all while being broken to believing

Held Together

Things got all twisted up all of the sudden,
you see there is so much pressure impending upon the New Year
It’s like I had everything straight one second, two strings
next to each other, pulled tight at an angle
and they become twisted
like twine my heart cannot figure any of this untangle-able

It’s not just one thing but many
and when the snow falls it accumulates
precipitation looks better when it’s all separated up in the sky
when each piece is on its own
I don’t like how this has gotten all

thrown
together

Trying to breathe better
but when I close my eyes I feel the way
they tremble – and my hands, I swear I’m not cold anymore but
my bones won’t stay straight, they knock against eachother

Time is the worst thing there is
We’ll say we have so much of it, but each second
becomes shorter, each day like a drawn out dialogue
dwindles into night, into nothingness

Oh it’s a strange thing, how quickly this longing
and ache has turned into an incessant worry
Or how valuable life is made out to be
only when it is threatened
Or how a circumstance can escalate
into an eternity – or how distance can be so terrifying

Help me to remember that there is a new morning
That it’s coming soon, that there will be light
that new opportunity and chances are not scarce
And in danger

Help me to remember that my soul is not
a limiting entity, that my mind is not the
epitome, that my anxiety
is not worth anything

Help me to remember that my faith
isn’t fleeting, that my strength isn’t up to me
that although our bodies are failing
and our thoughts are escaping
Help me to remember, this is not the end

My brain has been against me from the beginning, honestly
I’ve always reverted to loathing myself when imperfection
occurs, and nothing is ever perfect
So when it all stacks up
when events and actions, conversation and matters,
when issues arise, and sickness caves in, and darkness drowns
out the light that I crave to see
I am left with an overwhelming
physical and mental state and I can see it now
like a dark cloud, or a long hallway

Help me to remember that all things pass
and that all things are held together even when my
insides are broken up, twisted up, and
caught up in these times
Help me to remember,
that all things are held together

should I gather

guess 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
different
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

repeat

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
means
means
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
syntax,diction,allusion,creation,
exposure,contrast,hue,debate
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

laugh
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.

falling people

unintentionally adjourned my own sorrow,
dove into a tragedy that could never be forgotten, not today nor tomorrow
and it was covered in smoke and billowing clouds
dressed up in people, the colors of ours

i did not mean to open this door,
would have closed it but now i know more
this is where god becomes real to me
in the falling people and catastrophe

i play mind games all day long
my heart tugs at these filtering thoughts
fall into obsession with image and possession
of a history so plastered with loss

and this is when god becomes real to me
in the echoes of despair and despondency
in the trapped mysteries and wanderings
how can He not be true,
what else would there be
keeping me a part from death and the dark
from spilling out of my own skin

it takes heaviness to feel a difference,
and this difference I am desperate to know
i travel through numbness and awe,
passion and i am stripped now, i am raw

but this is where my god becomes true to me,
inescapable and unfaltering
stack me up against falling buildings and ideology
my god has never been so real to me

tangible and whole,
i am incomplete and alone
merciful and strong,
i am bitter and wrong

stack me up against falling buildings and falling people
up against stealing sadness and sores
up against ache and mystery
His love is enough for me

i can no longer hold,
all of these weights in my hands
dragging around me, are my burning stars and
bottled up sand
can no longer break,
or become more broken
stack me up against heat and rising trials
cut off relationships and empty miles
nothing will cause me to believe
that my god is inadequate,
that He is not enough for me.