Truth.

And we stand there screaming at each other, your eyeballs filled with fury and rage echoing like a giant boom from your stubborn mouth; ricocheting off these vacant walls that are filled with secrets and sadness and bitterness from 18 years of nights like this before. But yet, somehow, all I am really thinking about is how wonderful that tank top fits you and is it new? I’ve never seen it before. Hm. Maybe when the dust settles and the morning light finally catches the particles of truth floating around in this stuffy air and we realize our insecurities are not worth fighting for- Perhaps then I’ll ask to borrow it. 

Done

This world is spinning and it just won't stop.
No matter the words I use or the whispers you hear in the black midnight of my eyes-
Just know a portion of me will always love you.
But for me, this must be done.

I cannot concieve a time when I do not know of your soul.
But even more so, I cannot continue to imagine a world where you are right next to me.
So for me, this must be done.

And its nothing but an injustice to ourselves when we pretend we are still aware of our own presence, constantly wandering through this vacant echo and chasing after memories that evaporate with the very touch of our existence.
Things are not the same anymore.
And coming to terms with the afterthought of so many wasted months has been taking a toll on me lately.
But they say that coming to terms is good for the soul.
*So for me- this must be done.

Radio

She turns down the radio to listen for the song in his heart. 
Its a tune she has heard one too many times, but the lately the rhythm has been changing patterns and it scares her half to death.


She doesn't dare turn to face him because she knows the minute their eyes click her soul will melt like butter running swiftly down her neck and trickle across the seams of her porcelain skin and make a huge sopping mess of everything. 


How can he look at her like that with no emotion in his eyes? Like the sight of her doesn't cause his heart to beat in circles or stirs no flittering butterflies in the pit of his stomach? Because thats what she deserves. She deserves butterflies. 


Noticing the distant stare of his wandering mind, She keeps her two hands planted firmly on the wheel at 10 and 2 and prays for peace- finally realizing that this car is not the only thing in motion. Her desperate attempt to free herself from this temptation offers no relief. Yet again. 


To avoid embarrassment she reaches for the radio dial once more if only to drown out the ever charging melody pounding violently within her own heart. But just in time to hold on tight, he reaches for her hand and squeezes ever so gently. With no words spoken his heart says to hers, *We're going to make it love, we're going to make it. 

Move

Divine purpose calls for Divine explanation and you-

You don't have the answers. 

But HE does. 

He has the keys to my heart and the wisdom I grasp at thin air for and the ability to stretch out my soul inch by inch and peer straight into the deep violet folds of its existence. 

Because I don't exist for you. 

I exist for HIM. 

And if He should cause our paths to cross again- Maybe in some distant shining city 100 years from now, or perhaps tomorrow at the morning stoplight on Donaghey- Then so be it. 

But for now you are not my concern and this is not my concern because my concern is for His people. My concern is for His beautifully created world being torn down piece by piece and corroded with silent greed and billboards advertising great sex if you'll only by this body wash. 

My concern is that this seamless creation is being ripped apart by His own people who continue to ignore the enormous hole in this place- This gigantic black and bruised emptiness in each and every heart that can only be filled by Him. 

And when I stop to think I realize that concern is no longer big enough. But agony and pleading and desperate soul searching- These are words that speak. These are thoughts that mold and fashion and form. And when they are put into action, they move and shake and corrupt this tired world with His magnificent light until all the microscopic dust particles are caught in it's glorious rays and the windows of every house are thrown open and every person breathes it's peace into their revived lungs. 

And I'm not planning on it being easy. I didn't ask for easy. Dying and having babies and making marriages work isn't easy- but millions do it everyday. Having no place to call home and nothing but a tshirt in the frigid winter and listening to the shrill voice of your precious baby cry with injustice because they are dying of starvation isn't EASY. 

So why should my life be? 

I don't want to live with ease. I will not allow them to tell me I am not big enough to change the world. I will not let them tell me that WE cannot do something about the atrocities taking place all around us every single day. WE will convince them that concern is no longer enough. Because action is what will set the world alive. Because action is what He requires of us. 

So let these words stir your heart and move in the bottom of your soul and not sit quite right in your stomach and give your mind goosebumps- Until they become the reason you live, the reason you believe, they reason you BREATHE. 

And one day I do hope we meet again so that you can look into my eyes and find peace. So that you can see straight through the pulsing walls of my heart into my Soul. So that in the rosy warmth of my smile, and the kind understanding in my every move, you will feel His love. So that you will learn to live in these words- And WE will live in Him. <3

Raindrops

*She left drops of her beauty everywhere.

She was the sort of girl who danced in the rain with a smile on her face, and cried wildly at the thought of the child on the street corner going hungry the next day.

She was the kind of girl whose finger prints tattooed their innocence into every heart they touched.

She was the girl no one could forget.

She was the girl whose radiance beamed like the sun and brightened even the darkest corner of creation. She was the girl who spoke to angels in her sleep and gave butterfly kisses with her eyes.

She intrigued every man, caught a glimpse into the soul of every person she passed on her way to the coffee shop each morning.

She had broken the hearts of hundreds of men without even knowing it- All they longed for was simply to be good enough. 

She was the girl who loved him, but not the way he wanted her to.

She was the girl who gave all her secrets away to a lover from her youth- for it was the only thing she had to give. And because of this she knew that time didn’t always heal, and that chocolate couldn’t always fix everything.

The pain of those she loved was often harder to watch than to bear her own.


She was still a sixteen year old lover at heart. 

She was the girl he would regert letting slip right through the holes between his trembling fingertips-

Like soft dusty sand a warm summer's breeze picked her up and carried her far away.

She was the girl she knew he needed, but simply counldn’t make him see.

She was beautiful.

She was a child of God.

She was brilliant.

She was grace.

She knew laughter was the only cure and peace was finding solitude in the midst of chaos.

She knew the burning face of the sun by heart, and the deep craters of the moon like the back of her hand.

And still, she knew she was everything he needed, so she scattered her memories throughout the shadows of his wandering life. Her face was around every corner he turned- in every beautiful girl he met, in every prayer he ever said, in every breath he ever breathed.

But he knew only time would tell.

*And she left drops of her beauty in the palms of his hands.

Matt's House

Matt lives on Watkins Street in a little duplex behind the SigEp house. But Matt is not a frat brother. Because Matt is my brother. And I don't like to share. 

Sometimes people forget that houses are for living in. Matt is not one of those people. Matt's house is very much alive. 

Most walls are built to keep people out. But the walls of Matt's house were built to bring people together. 

You see, Matt is my best friend. His house is a sanctuary. It sits near the corner of Watkins Street, beckoning anyone with a story to tell, and a sense of humor to tell it with to come on in and stay a while. This is why Matt's house is my favorite. Around every corner lies a different story. Whether its the empty pizza boxes propped up against the sink, or the man-a-kin with a jack-o-lantern head screwed on crooked sitting on the end table- There is always, always, always a story. And I happen to be a big fan of stories. Which I think is what makes us such great friends in the first place. 

Not so many times have I been to Matt's house yet. But the times I have have meant the most. Matt's house is one of those places that  seem as if nothing can go wrong while you are there. You are nothing short of invincible- no matter the odds stacked against you. And this is why Matt's house is my favorite. I'm safer there than anywhere else in the world. 

Sometimes I get homesick for Matt's house, even as I'm lying in my own bed in my own room. There's something just too formal about majestic windows with swooping drapery-  not messy enough to support the life of any real human being. These are the kinds of rooms that people who do not feel go around "living" in. And I am not one of those types of people. I am a person who feels. 

So this is why Matt's house is my favorite- It was absolutely made for people who feel. 

Matt's house is far more than a duplex behind the SigEp house on Watkins Street. Matt's house is a home. And Matt's house is the home of my best friend. Which makes it the home of so much more. 

                                                12/29/2010

Statement of Education

Restless Pens and tired minds

Exhausted thoughts trailing behind 

Jet lag of the brain is the ultimate climax

So much more to go

Never ending sleepless tremors 

Always parallel structured tenure 

Frequent lapses of unfitted rest 

Pass on,

Pass on this final exhibit

All I ask is a moment of silence

To reminisce in solemn quiet 

But there is so much more to go.

And all they want is perfect product 

Molding my work to fit requirements 

That I’m not sure who put in place.

Following rules, equations, formulas

This is the secret to success. 

Would we have electricity if Franklin had followed the rules?

Who would have given us the car had Henry not defied society?

Thus, success comes only in great rule breakers

No, mediocrity does not satisfy the thirsty soul

Succumbing to popular opinion never got anyone anywhere…

Yet this desk lamp grows dim as the sun sinks to hide beneath the stars

And mind grows weary under harsh conditions

Over informing is a day-to-day happening 

And hands rub raw in frequent use. 

But with baggy eyes and weary soul

Books stack up in quick succession 

And though hearts ache for hurried relief,

There is still so much to go.