Myocardium

Signals shot,
silenced by frayed
wires, connected to
your ventricles,
and haphazardly
stuck to mine. I
need a boost.

Not simply a jolt,
but an awakening,
to be enlivened again,
so you switch to
the defibrillator,
in the hopes that
I won't give up entirely.

I think we could
avoid all of this
frantic first aid,
if you would just
choose me.
Keeping me half-alive
is torturous.

1

So I'm not quite sure
what to say when you ask,
or what to think when you speak,
how to respond when it's my turn.
All I see are empty rooms,
with doors recently opened,
that were once shut up.

And I smile smile smile.

Almost

Another night and I am
cold
writhing between sheets, paper
thin
wondering, if somewhere you are
just
as cold
as me.

Your hands, grip the edge of the
bed
and your eyes refuse to
shut
and you're hoping I'm still awake--
just
as restless
as you.

I only know the warmth of your
heart,
and the sound of your strong
voice
though I've yet to hear it, I am
just
as impatient
as you.

You sleep knowing that
soon
you'll be led in my
direction,
and you'll be
just
as thankful
as me.

To Try

...and I don't think it's due to

a lack of want or desire, 

but a lack of trying 

on no one's part but my own. 

Trying, to step over dividing lines 

and push against glass ceilings 

that cripple me. 

That cripple us. 

I don't try because I can't win, 

(or at least my heart tells me so)

and I know that if I try and fail, 

I will loose more than I ever wanted to. 

An age old weakness 

sleeps in my little heart, 

stopping me from attaining 

all my loftiest hopes, 

and though I point my finger 

to a faceless, voiceless cause, 

I know the fault is no one's but mine. 

If I never have you, 

it will be no ones fault but mine. 

Ask

I guess there's no point
in expecting to live a dream
when nothing ever really
comes close.
And I guess there's no point
in hoping for the best,
because hopes and expectations
always fall through.
But I tried my best,
to harness some courage
to see what I could see
in you.
I never accounted for
the fact that it is necessary
for you look for me
too.
I guess there's no point
in telling someone about yourself
if they never even ask
how you're doing.

Summer Dreams

I had dreams
of catching bugs in jars
on weeknights, after work
and mapping stars
and telling each other their stories
while drinking cheap wine
because at least it's classier
than drinking cheap beer.
Dreams, of day trips
and late nights
writing delicate words
and catchy melodies
after watching Molly and the gang,
and nursing hand cramps
induced by video game controllers.
Dreams that were dreamt
with you in mind,
(obviously)
and now I can't bring myself
to fulfill them single handedly,
so I aimlessly search
for my dream four-leaf-clover
to bring me some hope
that things will turn around.
But for now all I dream
about are the things you do
without me,
because I have no courage
and no perfect words
to tell you that
I don't want to catch fireflies
with anyone else but you.

Keys

Dear You,

Often I worry, that this old house
is too big for you to find me in,
and that you'll give up
for an easier venture,
rather than pursuing after me.

And sometimes I worry
that the windows of my history
that still remain open
will cause too much of a draft
for you to be happy here.

Will my love letters,
and my loyal devotion
be enough for a man
who will see all my brokenness,
and who know my every fear?

Will the rooms be big enough
for you to feel at home,
inside this old house of a heart,
that I've invited you into,
not to visit, but to live?

Will you see my haunting memories
as heavy bags to carry,
or beautiful stories
of victories much bigger than myself,
that you are privileged to share?

Oh I must believe,
that you will find me,
and find me lovely.
And I will find you worthy
of a set of keys

to this heart.

Love, Me.

One Day

They sit in the front seat 

after a pleasant evening 

of friendship and laughter, 

as typical as any. 

And on the way home, 

they share hopes for the future, 

and she listens to him dream

while she quietly dreams too. 

His eyes cannot see

through the glaze that covers 

her little brown irises, 

brimming with smiles, 

as she says a quick lie 

to hide a small truth 

that she accidentally let slip. 

Just as well, 

since he hasn't a clue 

that she's hidden things from him 

for what's turned into years now. 

She always meant well, 

and didn't see the point 

in ruining something 

that would never be more.

All her accidental truths 

have become hardly accidental 

because her silenced heart 

is screaming to tell him 

that every time she quiets her mind, 

her thoughts always go back 

yes, her thoughts always go back, 

to him. 

"One day", 

she says to herself 

as she steps out of the car 

and walks to her front door. 

"One day", 

she prays to her God 

as she crawls into bed, 

and gives everything up to the sky.

Bouquets

Bouquets of lost steps
sit on my night table.
I haven't watered them
in what seems like days now.
They are wilted little impressions
of dry and dusty ground.
I used to walk with you
when we were younger,
and in bloom
but I cut those steps
from the ground
to place in my vase.
I wanted them to sing me to sleep.
Maybe I knew
that you'd eventually stop walking
and wanted to preserve
one small thing before you did.
But even my sunny hope
couldn't stop the truth
from making those steps lost.
Like flowers, dead now.
Steps, dead now.

You're dead now.

Box/Name/Question Mark

I will drudge up 

an old metaphor 

that I've used for months

without telling you, 

to show you exactly 

what has gone on

in this little heart. 

Under a bed

in a box, 

with a padlock 

wrapped in chains, 

is your name

a question mark, 

and everything I feel. 

It's been sitting there

for what has turned into years, 

because I have no idea

what could happen

if I told you about it. 

I just keep that box

under that bed

and wait. 

Maybe one of these days, 

I'll be brave enough to show it to you. 

Shine

No,
no longer do I subscribe
to the late night television guide
where I feed my mind
lie upon lie
only to get through another night
only to get by
without trusting in a Father's light
so bright
in my small, yet wide eyes
and I will call it like I see it.
A fear I hide
away like a small, silent cry
that I'd cry and cry
as every sense of security walked out of my life
and into the hands of a crafted lie
that I am nothing in His sight
but rejected.
And I will claim my right
in my Christ who abides
and never hides,
this love and knowledge of me, infinite
like an ocean tide
that sweeps aside
every father's sin, and father's lie
until I remove my eyes
from an image of pride
and see a Father who has never tried
to do anything but set me apart.
No,
no longer do I subscribe
to a late night television guide
filled with such a temporary guise,
a ruse disguised
as a love that just hides.
Real love doesn't hide,
it shines.

2:54

I'm back
to hating again,
to hating the very hope
that used to give love.
and I can't believe
that the fire wasn't enough
to deter me from this.
My mind has not be kind
even though I've asked it to,
and my heart hasn't listened
to my reasoning, to my concern.
I don't care if it's still up in the air,
I don't care if it's still up for debate...
it's breaking my heart,
and hurting my eyes,
and stealing my sleep.

I'm just so tired.

Night

Black grass, smoldering eyes, 
Dancing in the fields, inhibitions in the stars, 
Far away and distant, free and careless, 
More alive with each breath than ever before. 

The stars make their ladles and their belts, 
And through my fingers they seem so close, 
Yet as the planes cut the sky, 
Suddenly, the world is small. 

Claustrophobia takes captive my heart, 
And I feel like I'm bursting at the seams,
Contentment in the simple sky, 
The world seems safe in this lone moment. 

Night has taken over my heart, 
And I would stay forever here, 
Because never have I seen such beauty, 
And never, have I felt so loved.

In The Summer

In the summer
we used to take our mason jars
with the holes in the lids,
down to the bog
where we'd chase the lights
that flew in the night,
catching them, one by one.

We ran through the mud,
the grass and the moss,
with our shoes that lit up
whenever you took a step.
And we ignored the streetlights,
and all our mosquito bites,
because they marked the time to go home.

With our chubby fingers
and our starry eyes,
we searched for more
than what we could learn in books.
Imagination, of a different kind,
an opening, of a creative mind,
we wanted more, more, more.

In the summer
we claimed what was ours,
with a young tenacity
and an innocent strength.
And even when our mother's called,
and our nightly adventures were quickly stalled,
we were still children.

We were children.

Playing God

I have adopted

whatever looks similar 

to a concrete conclusion, 

because answers, 

no matter how inaccurate, 

are better than nothing. 

Right?

You have played this out
like a mad-libs game,
with "insert the name of God"
written under every blank space.
Because that's the only way
you can make sense of things.
Right?

And I have written

my own ending 

to this never-ending-story, 

because you already have, 

and I think it's only fair 

that I get the last word.

Right?

Wrong. 

Because we have both failed

in our attempt to be wise, 

to realize that we don't know the end. 

And you can say that you do 

until the cows and the pigs fly, 

but you don't. 

I'm sorry but you just don't. 

Something Beautiful

Everything in my line of sight
is a slightly broken reflection
of what was once so beautiful.
My dull eyes used to shine,
with a joy that you inspired in me,
And my empty hands used to hold yours,
with such light and honest hope,
but now all I have are the memories.
The tiny snap shots of our story
that never had this end in mind.
There's no rewriting, no reliving,
just the one comforting thought:
that if I look at something beautiful long enough,
then maybe I'll remember what beauty is.

Gideon

Here is my fleece,
on the ground,
in Your hands,
fully offered up.
Because I can't keep it.

Be faithful to me
Oh God.
Be faithful to me,
Oh God.
I need You.

Not tomorrow
not the next day,
now.

Here is my fleece.

In A Good Way

You ask me what I'm looking at.

I ask you the same question, 

every time your eyes focus in on mine, 

and I feel at home, yet so lost. 

"Lost," I promise you, 

"in a good way". 

Happy Day

It may as well be 

raining rainbows and sugar plums, 

because this day is like a dream-- 

a mixture of the whimsical 

and the sheer excitement found in hope.

And tomorrow may be the same, 

with clouds that look like cotton balls,

leaves that fly like birds, 

and a sun that lights everything up. 

You light everything up. 

Oh such joy!

Oh such joy. 

Season

Our wintering has begun. 


The leaves have yet to settle, 
yet the frost is in our bones. 
Calling for a hibernation 
we weren't yet prepare for. 
Is it that simple?
To sing a heart to sleep?
Or will this undefined amount of time
be torture to our souls?
Slow is this process, 
but our will is so quick. 
Will we survive this wintersleep, 
or will we never awake?
There's great healing to be had, 
so many emotions to reconcile, 
and so much, so much left to prove.
When we awake, 
who will we be?


Our wintering has begun.