Is this it?

This is the moment when my skin bleeds. 

I never expected it to purge the melancholy. 

This is the moment when my blood hits the freshly cut grass under that big hard sun. 

It always makes my eyes water uncontrollably. 

This is the moment when my skin heals. 

It's actually an accumulation of moments and some wounds don't actually heal, by the way. 

This is when I stand in the freezing cold, hoping to feel connected to something that can make me feel like I once did. 

I end up with cold fingers and sore feet. 

This is when I call it a night, and dream of words unspoken. 

You know those dreams where you want to cry out, but can't?

I used to convince myself that God was behind every flickering lamp post. I had hoped it was a sign. Meaning, fulfillment, purpose. 

Love?

I still take long walks at night to find an answer to why my mind can't let go of the past. I remind myself that the future is bright. There really is a lot to look forward to. There's happiness ahead. 

But like a stalking cloud, waiting to cover every little ray of sunshine, there will always be something in my mind. Something inexplicable. Something bleak. Something anxious to watch me bleed. 

One year older, one step closer to God’s doorstep

 Jesus came to my birthday party. 

And I haven't been the same since. 

A long time has passed since we sat under the oak tree and listened to the whisper of the wind. Fruit was sweeter, the sunlight warmed our skin, and we weren’t so afraid of the future. Or bitter about the past. We used to write about love, and we were good at it. First kiss. Slow dance. Weekends. The world was ours and we wanted everyone to know it. Careless and free. Hopeful and passionate. Now we can’t wait to fall asleep and dream about never waking up. 

I don’t know when life stopped making sense. I don’t know when I started getting annoyed at that big hard sun, or overripe fruit. I used to believe that angels watched over us, and that my dad visited me in my dreams. My heart was full of hope. But now it’s full of anger, and I can’t stand the way it feels. The beauty that once captured my soul has since burned in the flames of discontent, and I'm not quite sure who lit the flames. 

It's been three years since we asked him if he saw anything on the other side when he was slipping from our grasp. 

He said "no." 

And on this day every year I'm reminded of that. I remember the tears. I remember his lifeless body and how heavy it was. But most of all I remember his last words. 

He said "no." 

Yes God, I resent you. For what you’ve taken. What you'll take. Jesus was at my birthday party but he forgot about my dad. 

And so it goes. We relish in hope during the day. But at night we embrace the demons, and write angry poems that were once about love. We'll quit looking back. We'll keep keep moving forward like we promised we would. But please God, just let me be. 

I don't need you like I once did, and for that I'm sorry. 

Love on the Hillside

Tell me one more time, in hopes that it will finally sink in. Tell me when we used to live and love on the hillside.  Remind me of life without this pain and when we weren't sucked in to loving this burden weighing us down.

Seeing our reflection makes me think of a place called heaven. Some place that is so far away but somehow tends to feel so close. Like some force that is holding you back from the cliff.  Like someone with their loving arms stretched towards you, as a mother holding her new born.  Undefiled by the sick and weightless in a world full of you, on this hillside we love and we live.

The world sits and waits. and waits. and waits. For the grand departure, and for this burden to crush us.

Tell me. When you sit there on the balcony on a cold and rainy day, do my embraces remind you of something you believed in? As we live and love on this hillside, does my company make light of this burden pushing us further down?  Sometimes I wish we would give in. And sometimes, I think we were meant to carry this with us.

Yes, we were made for this.  Tell me that these words mean something, and that our embraces remind us of what we believe in. Love me on this hillside and we will forever hold this burden, with stronger shoulders, and softer hearts that were meant to pump for each other.

Closed Book

You're no stranger to the thoughts in my head.  You've read the words written on my soul, like an open book, I lay there vulnerable and impatient.

I continue to write.

It's easy to assume that others believe the same things you do, and sometimes we just dream for the next line to tug at your heart and feel what we do. I'm scared to give you all of me until there's nothing left, but no one likes a closed book, so I keep writing.

When I'm with you I never say the right things, so I keep writing.

I often wonder what I'm doing here and what this will all lead to in the end. If I'll make the right choices and if love is really all we need.

Rainy days and wet clothes.  Some people aren't as lucky as us you know. Your hand in mine we jump in this river together.  No looking back. Just you and I writing our own book, and all I can do is hope you will lay there vulnerable and impatient with me.  Because no one likes a closed book.

A Story About a Boy and a Girl

He never imagined the negative outcome of his ambition. How was he supposed to know that this time, the voices in his head and the feelings in his heart were pushing him away from her?

I knew a man who loved a girl. She wrote about him and he dreamed about her. They held hands, they kissed and they kept each others secrets. It was something made for the movie screens, and those who passed them on the streets were jealous. "How can two kids know something about love?"

Now I'm not one to meditate on the unknown, but sometimes I wonder if he knew that his love would push them apart. Or if she knew the path she was inevitably going down.

I guess some things are better left unsaid.

-with love, indecision.

3:15 AM

It's 1:15 in the afternoon and I should be working, but for the past 10 months everyday, there has been one thing on my mind.

I spent 2 years of repetition and it made sense, the world that is. I imagined that when I came home things would continue to be easy and my path forever illuminated. I never imagined that God would let me decide for myself the road I take.

It's 3:15 in the morning and that one thing is on my mind.

You.

I wake up and see the reflection of a kid, scared to mess things up. I don't want to do this wrong, but sometimes I imagine you next to me and suddenly the world makes sense again.  Just like it did 2 years ago.

"Oh he's so cliche writing about love." "Every post is about her." "He's just another wannabe writer with no originality."

For one second let's just be honest. It's been about love from day one.  Okay,  I never knew what love was, but I wanted to and I tried so hard to fit in. I wrote poems about a girl I thought I knew and about a feeling that wasn't truly in my heart. It felt like we were reaching for something that never actually existed. I watched movies and observed people who knew things that I didn't, who lived in a world that I would never be apart of.

Well now things are different.  It's 3:15 AM and I swear I haven't stopped worrying about you. The thought of seeing you again gets me through the day, and it keeps me alive in a world that I'm not so excited to live in.

And for that, I thank you.

Spiralling

From emptiness to everything we make our way back to this reality we live in. We paint pictures of belief and tell our kids what we used to dream of. This never ending war is raging on in our minds, and it takes more than courage to follow the desires set so deeply in our hearts. Hearts that we once knew so well. None of us are as strong as we appear and we wait for the next bullet to be shot just to know that we still feel.  It's easy to forget what we live for. It's hard to know what's worth dying for.


If I let you go would you take a piece of me with you? Maybe to remember all the good times. I don't remember having any bad. Perhaps we fear change. Those butterflies aren't what they used to be and this anxiety is starting to weigh down our souls with disbelief.


We all have the choice to believe. To believe that even we deserve to be happy.  To claim what is ours. Don't listen to the negativity.  Don't be held back by the loneliness.


Walk with me.