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.  

"Define my heart and call it yours;

Remember the light inside my eyes, 

Cherish the firework stares.

Burn your breath upon my skin;

Pull me tight into your dreams, 

sing me deep for all the world. 

Wrap me up and love me silent;

Weave your threads between my fingers, 

Paint your life onto my walls. 

Seal my lips with vibrant color; 

dance through swirling starless skies, 

catch moon tears from falling black. 

Paste my soul into your flesh;

Squeeze me into existence,

show me the wholes inside your heart. "

                 *But still I ask:

                 What happens when it's over? 

       What happens when the sun rises and sheds light 

                           on this 

                     bittersweet tragedy? 

                  What will we have become? 

*Please rid me of these memories, 

            and give me the emptiness I long for. 

Scars

Bleeding remarks pierce my soul.
                
                      *But you are alive in me.

Say what they want, but when the time comes
only we will know whats best.

I'm terrified of the mistakes I will make tomorrow-
               for anxiety is a force to be reckoned with.

But no one can cross these lines we draw-
          *When will we learn stubborn mindest gets us nowhere?

So speak in colors of burnt red & August yellow-
Paint me a kaleidoscope of heartfelt remorse.

Travel across time and erase cruel words from all consciousness-
Let the sunset on presentday troubles.

Take my scared heart and cradle it in your palm-
recognize the sown-up stiches from wounds you first inflicted.

And when time has passed and the stale air becomes fresh again-
Take my seared hand and let me stare
                              into your sorrow-glazed eyes,

Then cry in out in silence as I hold you gentle.

                                   * And finally know we are new again.

Purple Chalk Smiles and Summer Memories

The last memory of summer is imprinted on my window. As I approach my parked smoldering car, a vision of that most exhilarant night comes swimming back into my soupy thoughts. A beautiful reminder of shinning eyes bright with the radiant joy of youthful exuberance, nothing ever fades so quickly. But as the sun sets upon the heat of August, I almost cry as that lopsided purple smiley face stares back at me, its beamy little chalk eyes pentrating my hardened soul.And as I recall the times of our disolving summer; the nights we spent laughing deep into the night; the concerts and the lake trips and the neverending rummy games- I smile. 3 familiar faces materialize behind my tightly shut eyes, filling the empty spaces hiding between the memories that are already becoming stale from reminiscing much too often. Instantly my heart bleeds at the thought of letting go of our days in the sun. The realization that these beautiful moments will fade into the background of our busy Fall sends instant panic pulsing through my heart. And though for a while my bones will ache with the faint noise of stale laughter falling to the ground amidst the browning leaves, I know that nothing could ever replace these waning moments. As a single tear flits across my eyelashes and rolls fluidly down my flushed cheeks, I once again come face to face with that loaded symbol of my entire summer. The purple smile sits silently upon the tinted glass, glistening in the sun. And though it will fade and rain will come and wash its shining smile away, forever will its meaning be imbeded in my heart.


*Because nothing could ever replace these times-
                          
                                    These times we felt alive.

Night Sirens

*With one foot inside the open car door and the other planted firmly on the slick, gleaming pavement, I realize I'm stradling a decesion that has already been made. I contemplate the stars dwindling silently above the screaming city streets as I wish one more time for a sign. With a slam of the car door, I find myself staring out at the moon. Craters seem to mirror the exact image of my silent stone heart, casting their glowing shadow upon the crowded sea of faces below. As the car pulls away from the curb, I faintly hear the sound of aimless sirens waning in the background. And still I cling to the idea that somewhere out there, you're doing just the same. 

Leaving

 *Fill Up my Heart with 

                                          ancient TIMES   and   

                  Lost   goodbyes,

                                    *Please wait on my reminiscent sorrow. 

*Dont Forget 

            to grab your bags,                          

                                                 put out  OUR TRASH 

                         & call a cab-

Cause the morning's but a night away, Love;

                                                     *And tomorrow's gonna come too soon. 

                                                                                     

Perfectly Undescribed

Ink Prints LEFT UPON MY HEART-

             Please   COME   ERASE these Burnt out memories. 

*And don't forget to wake me in the morning. 

Autobiography

My name is Beautiful. 

I come from believers in ancient star gazing. 

I love to pretend. 

Souls are always worth dying for, and make believe is my reality. 

Sometimes I break in midnights relived. 

The comfort comes knowing the crying stops with the rise of the morning sun. 

Light has power not only in sunshine, and smiles brighten eyes to my core. 

But despite all things left unsaid, I know truth lies in uncertainty. 

And though I'm bound to my convictions-

Still your name is *Beautiful. 

Summertime Realizations

Summertime has never traveled so fast as in the sticky Southern air. Anxiety begins to haunt me as the end draws nearer, reaching into the back of my mind, whispering lies of perpetual doubt. Who will I be when our time runs out?

Summer is the real me. The cold long winters bring confusion of souls, and I lose all sense of myself in the frigid months of darkness. But as warmth lingers in the background- as heat finds its place again- I wave hello to the girl I know so well and we embrace with surrender and find our place. And I smile with radiant life: For I've found myself again. 

So as the cool months loom in the crevices of Summer, I find myself wondering... Who will I be this side of the seasons? Can this time be different? Will I somehow manage to keep hold of my summer self, despite the grasp of winter's tightening fist? 

And what about you... 

-oh, you... 

Will I see your face again? 'Cause I'm awful scared when it comes to this matter of Faith. For if I'm only honest, that's what truly makes me myself: *my identity in you. 

Yes, sad as it may be... 

But for now I must not worry... Even though it's all a loser's game as I wait on this porch basking in July's unhealthy sun- Still savoring each and every day. 

Falling

PART I


Falling Up. 
Backwards- Sideways. 
Original context brings submerged feelings to the epicenter of my surface. 
Realzing my precious soul scars easily-
Learning intricate life lessons on one long seemingly meaningless journey.
So hurry now, before I'm gone. 
Before I finally notice -
These bruises left on the inside. 


PART II 


Falling Up.
Somehow I find myself dancing in our midnight clouds 
as this misty condensation trickles down my sinking skin. 
Air suffocates my silent scream as I watch life itself vanish into remote vastness.
This is not the way I pictured it. Never in a million years would I have guessed you would be the cause of this lonely contradiction. 


But look at me now. 
Here I am. 


Just *Falling Up. 

Flying

Create me in color. 

Soar across my life and teach me how to dance. 

Learn in me the ability to love with arms wide open. 

Laugh in my vivacious youth.

Trace my heart in distant air and sing me the soft lullaby of your vibrant life. 

Follow me through ornate lies.

I never imagined falling could feel so good. 

But look at me-

**I'm flying. 

Avoiding

I'm avoiding, I know. Please don't remind me. And don't think I haven't already noticed. 

Isn't it strange though? How the  words that flow through my blood stream beating my heart with every breath seem to fail me now? How the very thing that fuels my existence, the raving passion that swims in the depths of the oceans of my soul is suddenly: 

GONE? 

....Why?

I am a writer, this I am sure of. This isn't just something I know- It's something increpted in my DNA. It's been bound within my weaving chromosomes and branded into my heart- It is my Home. That it chooses to fail me now only causes me to question my motives. Am I too exhausted to write? Has inspiration gone on vacation? Do I need to take a break myself? 

Then, the dreaded, ghastly, but unfortunately inevitable question:

Do I even want to write?? 

GASP!!! 

Of the answer to this I am sure- Absolutely. I wouldn't be doing all this over analyzing if I weren't positively sure. Which leads me to another point:

**When has over analyzing ever gotten anyone anywhere?? 

Answer: NEVER.

So then what the heck am I doing!?!? And how do I STOP!?

But then I hear your voice: Let it be. 

And suddenly, it's as simple as that. I've realized what it takes. And I breathe.

 Put down the pen. Empty the trash can of my wasted paper. Throw open the windows. 

*And know that I am free. 

Ready

I'm ready to create with feeling.
I'm ready to move desperate souls into existence.
I'm ready to dance across the sun's horizon & feel the cool
of the moon against my skin.
I'm ready to inspire a world of non-dreamers & non-believers.
I'm ready to be raw & real & vulnerable in every way possible.
I'm ready to get up and just go.
I'm ready to fly.
I'm ready to open my eyes.

*I'm ready to live.

But shouldn't have I?

*Maybe I shouldn't have. 
But that last cupcake just looked so good sitting on that shiny gold platter basking in the kitchen light and so what if my stomach is now bursting at the seams? 


*Maybe I shouldn't have. 
But those shoes were just sooo cute and on sale 30% off and who cares that they were still $67 and that I now have overdraft charges on my checking account... right? 

*Maybe I shouldn't have. 

It seemed so harmless at first... And then I would have missed out on all the fun everyone else was having. 

*Maybe I really should'nt have. 
But sometimes I just get so angry and you know how to push all my buttons... 


*Well, Maybe I shouldn't have. 
But you were just sooo cute and the color in your eyes made me melt like butter.
*But maybe I shouldn't have.
And suddenly, falling in love wasn't quite so avoidable.


*Maybe I really shouldn't have...


Because now I'm left with a thousand broken memories of what used to be and ohhh how the times change too quick.


Could it all have been avoided? Is a shattered heart better than not having any heart? Does heartache feel better than not feeling anything at all? 


Answer: ......




***So maybe I really shouldn't have.