I search for you in my blackest
my drunken, misguided North Star.
Born of cunning and velvet
and the spaces between stars,
you were clothed by your maker in all the ways I yearned for you.
Were you a fever dream I restlessly brought forth
or were you sent to torment me
for all my wanton sins?
I’ve repented of each one a thousand times
if only to remove the scent of you from every layer of my skin.
Between pleas flung into the inky night,
are you come as my salvation or my ruin?
“Please don’t ask me how I’m doing,
I’m feeling fragile
That’s okay, I will mind my own garden
But please remember that I’m
just on the other side
of this broken
And when you’re ready, I will
be there to admire the
flowers growing in
I unzipped my skin and tore away
entire parts of me in my desperate attempt
to please you. Staring dispassionately,
your only remark was to note
what a mess I created.
It tastes of the river.
Bones rattling in the empty darkness
Echo in the stillness of her ribcage.
Restless; you stare into the stormy night,
Imagine bodies falling from bridges.
A light footfall and the sound of indigo
Blend into the subway. It spills its secrets
To the dark tunnels
As women rush by
Exposing wrists–haggard and drawn
As the worn grey scent of money.
You move your fingers over her spine
And think of lightning.
Sometimes God places us in tumultuous waters not to punish us, but to push us forward into a better place where we wouldn’t have ventured ourselves due to being complacent with the status quo.
Continue reading “Suffering as a Christian”
Pure love is absolute freedom. It gives the object of its affection unbridled power to come and go as it pleases. Even if that means that the object of its affection chooses to walk away from that source of pure love.
Let me tell you what love is not. It is not stifling and controlling and domineering. It does not mask itself under pretenses of worry or care while it slowly squeezes the life from you under the weight of possessive control. It does not lash out at you when you have failed to carry out its expectations. It does not determine your life for you while your self-will dies a slow and torturous death.
That is obsession.
It only took me a thousand deaths to finally realize the difference.
If you’ve never truly hated someone with the deepest of bitter resentment and the hottest fire of burning rage–then do you truly know what it is to love someone?
If ever the black crashing waves of the purest loathing have never pummeled you, sucking you under in the fierce current of their bottomless depths, then tell me–how do you ascend into that sweet paradise of sublime beauty in equal measure?
To love deeply is to risk letting the pits of hell take you into their unrelenting embrace.
To crash unexpectedly into that fiery inferno, arms and legs akimbo as you pinwheel helplessly through the air.
To feel a thousand deaths as you watch your dreams sputter and die, winking out one by one.
But the glaring tragedy here is not having to survive such unbearable loss, no–the real tragedy here is to never have felt that kind of consuming love at all.
Invisible in a world full of molds,
We search desperately for someone who will see us–
Beneath the masks, beneath the facades, beneath the uncertain smile.
Will today be the day that someone will finally take notice of me?
Hear my words, look into my soul,
Acknowledge the small flame of my existence?
Will you be the one to stop by for a moment,
And warm your hands briefly by my fire?
To let me know that for a moment in time,
I was not alone in a world full of molds.
A silent companion
Whose sole purpose is to shred you to pieces
Over the smallest thing.