Broke

Injected with
anxiety that
knocks me off
my size seven feet
and I haven't the time,
the strength or the will
to get back up.
And I start to think
that maybe I'd save time
by just lying here
cold and frozen,
with bones that
won't move,
because in the end
I'll just end up
in this state anyways.
Right?

I Conclude (For Now...)

I conclude, 

to try my damnedest 

to work this out 

on my own. 

Without even 

opening my mouth 

to ask you 

for help. 

You see, 

I'm such a coward

and a little self-concious, 

because losing you 

in any way 

would be devastating. 

I'm sorry. 

Mental Anguish

Anguish, like having what you want
right at your finger tips,
yet having no way to take hold of it,
is pulsing through my body.
It takes over my senses,
latching onto my blood cells,
stealing my deep breath,
tainting my innocent laughter,
weakening my limbs,
colouring my skin,
and it makes me mental.

Mental.

Held Up

He's held up 

by what seems to be

his own thoughts. 

Racing and whirring, 

like the wind 

over the flat fields. 

He has choices

but none of them are easy 

either way, things will change. 

She's held up

by what seems to be 

her own fears. 

Rushing and stirring 

her poor little heart, 

like rain on young flowers. 

She has a voice, 

but holds silence, 

because speaking up never worked before. 

They sit side by each 

and say nice things, 

yet all the while 

the things they want to say 

go again, unsaid. 

They're held up. 

Dandelions Are Not Flowers

These misconceptions are rather lovely this time of year, 
and I am content to lay in these fields filled with your broken spirt. 
Your eyes pass over me, as if I am not even laying here, 
and I think its so painfully wonderful, 
that this happens everytime I find myself in this place. 
Every time, I say to much, reveal to much, 
and I am left to soak in my own scorn, 
cheeks hot from the embarassment. 
Allow me to introduce myself, 
I am the one person you will never expect,
the one person you will be able to pick out of any crowd, 
so misfited, so foreign. 

Shut up silent wind, 
shut up. 

I am quite aware of my fate, aware of this predestiny, 
so why must you remind me so mockingly?
These flowers are like fools gold,
the colour of a mid-day sun, 
standing tall in their glory, 
yet these flowers are nothing but weeds in the garden, 
taking up the life of the beautiful. 
Am I just a dandelion? Eating the life of the beautiful?
Dandelions are not flowers. 

Shut up silent wind, 
Shut up.

Hypochondria

My name is hypochondria,

And I swear,
that my clammy hands,
and my palpitating heart,
are clear signs
that my heart is stopping.
And my closing throat,
and my want for sleep,
is alerting me
to some kind of cancer,
growing, and spreading.

The more I sit here,
the more ailments I count,
and the more I worry,
the more my worrying sickens me.
I live in a circle,
only every once and a while,
where I'm afraid of my fears.
And it's only when
I realize that I'm fine,
that I am free.

I Know I'll Repent of This in The Morning...

I have nothing more to say,
than this:

You saw my heart,
You knew my emotions,
You let them develop,
then you took it all away.
You've broken me,
to a point of confusion,
and I can't see You
or hear You
and I want You to know
that I'm not impressed.

You saw my fleece
and my honest cries
and you stomped all over it.
You saw us on the altar,
and our offering up to you,
and you provided no lamb.

In my anger,
I have nothing more to say than this.

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.

Isaac

I remember an offering, 

not to many months ago, 

where I was offered up 

to atone for your mistakes. 

Twice I was put on that metaphorical altar, 

against my own will, 

(but yet so very willingly) 

and each time there was one result. 

And I prayed to a God

who allowed me no peace, 

but only allowed the remaining truth, 

that you were not to blame. 

The second time you saw me, 

broken for a crime you committed, 

your hands were no longer clean, 

and your heart was no longer locked up. 

So we prayed for redemption

and a healing of our scars, 

and your words became beautiful, 

and your heart became honest, 

while my words became strong, 

and my heart became forgiving. 

And something emerged 

from a box we had placed our God into. 

But now the altar is prepared again, 

a third and final time, 

but this time I am not bound alone, 

we are bound together. 

We offer up

our dreams and desires, 

our hearts and our lives, 

to a God who deserves all of it. 

And we trust in our Provider, 

since he knows our very souls, 

to remain faithful 

whether a lamb appears in the the thicket or not. 

An Open Fist

My fist is clenched,
knuckles white, palms red,
and it's clear that I'm holding on.
Because if I don't,
I'll lose you to the wind,
lose you to the rain.

I'm tired,
of the give and the take,
the give and the take take take,
so I will keep you hidden,
from the One who always sees,
from a God who always sees.

And we sit and cry
as if the end has already come,
as if the wind and the rain have won,
but we've yet to step outside.
We compare, contrast, categorize,
making sense where there is none.

Our incapable hands,
will be chaffed and bruised
if we continue this foolishness.
And as much as my heart
wants to keep you tucked away,
I know if I do, I'll lose you indefinitely.

So stand with me,
and raise your hands.

Tongue Tied

There's a secret
that I hold inside myself,
about a darkness no one should see.
I long to tell you.
To open up these lips and let it run,
into your ears, into your heart,
but my lips freeze, my heart stops,
and I rationalize my cowardice.

You've got a secret,
that you're afraid to tell me,
about shame you've carried so long.
I long to hear it.
For you to unleash your tied tongue,
from it's bindings, from it's cage,
but you start and stop, start and stop,
and I sigh.

I start, you stop, I sigh.

Tag

I sat in the third seat, 

facing the curtain-covered window, 

beside a dark haired girl 

who had the same shoes as me. 

You sat in the sixth seat. 

Some simple conversation, 

and some awkward words 

echoed in my mind 

in the weeks that followed. 

Months from then, they still do. 

So many hours laboriously spent 

asking Mr. God-of-the-universe

to slow down just a little bit, 

so I could decipher you. 

So I could decipher my heart.  

Then you created and destroyed me, 

exposed and protected me, 

until you couldn't understand anymore.

Your confusion has yet to change my certainty, 

but my heart can't keep waiting. 

You're still that man, 

sitting in that sixth seat, 

but I've gotten up, 

wiped my eyes and said my prayers, 

and walked away. 

Whether or not I'm worth chasing after is really up to you.                                

                                                                                                             

Strung

You play your game

from the other side of the wire

pushing every button, 

tying every heart-string into knots. 

Like a scheme you've crafted so carefully

you lure me back into the snares

knowing I'm not strong enough to deny you, 

or smart enough to let  you go. 

You leave me shamed, 

to nurse a heart that has betrayed me

once again. You show no remorse

as you look at me with eyes that seem so safe. 

We both know this won't be the last time. . . 

Shall We?

My arm is tied to a rope,
Tightly, I am secured,
You hold the other end,
And as you walk on, I drag suitably behind you.
I didn't think this was in your nature,
But maybe I read this wrong. . .
Sometimes I wonder if you've forgotten,
That I am down here attached to this rope.
My legs torn up, my wrist burnt,
I try to tell you to stop, to let me up,
But you can't hear me.
Maybe it's not even your fault,
Maybe you don't even know I'm down here,
But I am, and I think it's time this ended.
I've been dragged behind you,
Hanging in the balance,
Waiting on you to stop those feet,
Untie this rope, and pick me up.
Let's cut to the chase, shall we?