I’m beginning to feel numb again. Like icicles taking form

of my close relative, burned wood

stepping into my brain.

I collapse in the presence of adversity.


I will become ground you tread on,

I will become barren tree you skip by,

I will become nothing of me but everything of



You have my lifeline, dipping up

and down to pulse almost deplete.

Holes have shot through me

and now water pushes out every crevice,

why have you allowed waterfalls to happen within me?

Why does the night subside and descend

into madness,

why have I not been given the slightest

aforementioned thought of a time once

present? I see absolutely nothing.

You see absolutely everything.

My face becomes cracked in all direction and

my knees rock the cold surface, light purple bruising

has spotted my kneecap,

this marble-white dress flowing downward into grandiosity.


Be quiet, do not make a

sound in this state.

Vulnerability has taken over

and is flickering inside your center,

you can shift your weight so bruising

does not become fatal,

but understand the cracks,

get to know them because that is your makeup

and it is becoming a story.


Beauty is what you see.

You spell it out and you engrave it

above me.

When you gave the word to have

arrows slung at me, you knew the

exact location they would hit and

protected each part of my being.

I scream into the colorless unknown thinking

you were never here, but soft voices lay

beside me and I just refused to listen.

When you fashioned a new system in my heart,

I threw away the manual,

too many words for me to concentrate.

But now it is brought back and I read every

last word of it.

You have broken,

and you have mend.


Grace sufficient in vast quantities and I am living in it.

Pour it out, pour it out, never-ending flow.

Freely do I run now,

freely do I go.



In the Earth that you created,

you saw beauty in the dusty


and it was good.


In the lines of your palms,

rivers bend at the authority of your


They dip and concave

and swirl in a sweep

of Joy

And it was good.


See, no one here on your Earth

can even fathom the eternal beauty

you exhaled out of your mouth.

No one can even see the pure veil

that you crafted from your fingertips

and have settled upon the ground.

We can’t even begin to pull apart the strings

Of your heart,

the mass of life that pulses through

your veins,

Agape flow,

Agape flow,

Streams of mercy

they go

forth in your beats.


And it was good.


In our dirt minds

You have planted a seed,

You have planted it deep inside,

And you have embedded it in the middle of our lies.

And you place your seed deep into our dirt

And you place it deep into our hurt

And you place your seed deep in the core,

Your water pours forth upon your seed,

You see us,

And we are so so good.



In your image

You made us.

You created us,

You, you, you crafted our brains,

Our soul is your breath.

Look, Father,

Look at our hands.

Look at the flesh you formed,

Look at the roughness,

Look at the softness,

Look at the fear that has intertwined

with our fingers.

Look at the manipulation that tugged at

our tips,

Look at the self-hatred that scraped up the skin


Take our hands.

Take them.

Take back what is yours.

But take them lightly,



Let your Spirit

Mend the wounds

Suffocation release in your waves of Light

Let rusty chains break from your divine Name.


“Make me know Your ways, O LORD; Teach me Your paths. Lead me in Your truth and teach me, For You are the God of my salvation; For You I wait all the day.”


In all this,

It was very good.




To You

I’m trying to find words to write poems again,
Yet my fingers refuse to ink paper
And my mind keeps going in different directions.
I try to pinpoint what exactly it is I’m getting at,
But it gets lost in a mix of unsaid words
And broken phrases.

I get a sense of confusion when I look at you.
When I try to write poetry
Your face forms in my mind
And I try to rip it out of the folds
In my brain
But you stain my heart
With your transparent eyes,
And I’ve come close
To stabbing myself with this godforsaken

Why can’t I write one single line of poetry
While you’re a living poem
Your metaphoric lips sing praises
your fingers extend out into emotional
To walk in tandem with your footsteps
Is to walk in tandem with Oscar Wilde.

I’m trying to find words but my mind is under construction
But you have no road blocks, so you
Constantly write.
And you constantly breathe life into words,
You breathe life into life
You inhale the toxicity of the human race
And exhale a pure dust of newborn kindness.

I’m a walking potato sack
Who writes bad poetry because
Writing a book turned out to be
Too much effort.
I’m helplessly trying to structure words
Out of the dark
But you’re blinding rays
Soak up my night
And I stay awake
To the soft thumps
Of intimacy with the stars.

I’m bleeding out poetry
And it’s killing me.
I’m bleeding out love
And it’s killing me.
I’m bleeding out reasoning
And I’m bleeding out
And it’s bleeding into ground
And now the dirt has a better understanding
Of who I am.
Maybe I’ll grow into a tree.
A giant that you will one day
Rest yourself under,
And the shade that I provide you with,
Will soften your eyesight, so you can
Take one good look
At the world,
And distinctly remember
Who I was.

To You