Things I Never Felt

The flutters of the heart
like butterfly wings in flight
traveling from one bloom to the next
stopping momentarily
to savor each second
whispering gently I am blessed

The longings of the heart
like the waves on the constant coastline
coming in to hug the edge of the land
with a rush
as I move to high tide
exclaiming giddily I love you

The aches of the heart
like the sting of a most vicious wasp
its venom wavering in and out
as shame spreads
when I've let you down
screaming emptily I am sorry

These are the things I never felt
until I was with you

A Conversation with Myself

Leave this cit/adel
     where relying on circumstances
     is like a massive wall
     guarding a fortress of fear

Run away from this hom/icide
     murdered is my good intention,
     slain is someone's trust,
     dead are dreams and amendments

Go back to famil/iarizing myself
     with Wisdom's face,
     with God's grace,
     with Kingdom vision on which my worldview I base

Let It Be

Let out
     like streams that flow
     like gates that have flown
               wide open
     like children on a snow
               day
     like childlike faith full grown

Let down
     as unfulfilled expectation
     as repeated rejection
     as increased introspection
               given the greatest glimmers go
               out

Let go
     of my shiny dreams
     of my shaky foundation
     of my short sight
     of my small faith

The Future Unfolded

Words
on a website
whisk the readers
through the thick
of daydreams
of late nights when wishes keep the writer wide awake
when writers remember a lost realm
and imagine an immaculate
world where
flaws lead to freedom
grace is given to the grieving
death decrees that debtors receive jubilee
redemption restores and refreshes
and then
those things that the readers thought
and taunted
and trivialized
thoroughly
those things that the writer revealed
and reveled in
and revisited often
those things
they became
present
processes through
People

The Ebb

There's an ebb and flow.
I don't know where to go.

It takes me to and fro.
To places I don't know.
And places of familiarity.

Face to face with fear,
And feelings I cannot bear.

So I run
To where I was from
A time of malign
Paradigm

But a place
I found grace

And they keep reminding me
Who I was made to be

Free

Sleuth for Truth

There is a question that always baffles me.
It's my indecision,
of whether it is better to be mediocre at all things
or marvelous at one thing.

Whether it is better to skim along middle ground
or take a risk, dive deep and perhaps discover valuable rewards - or possibly never come back up again.
Some risks are worth taking - the ones that end up reaping rewards,
others are not.

One way or another,
it seems I will either be a little unprepared for a specific task
or extremely unprepared for many tasks, yet fully ready for that single one.
Unable to escape unpreparedness.
Unable to choose the better future.

Because, the truth is
I don't have all the time in the world to find out which path to take
and
I'm just
not
good
enough.

Guilt Trip

Failing, Falling, Fearing.
They say honesty is the best policy,
But they forgot to tell me that sometimes it can hurt.
That freeing yourself with the truth can make you feel guilty.

Well, if it is the truth,
that honesty, the pursuit of truth, is the best policy.
Then I must've done something right.
Fixing, Flying, Freeing.

But it's too early to tell.

Insomniac

Lying and waiting, for a snippet of sleep, is slow and painful.
At first it is quite peaceful, being under layers of gentle cotton.
But soon enough, it is anything but comfortable.
Wishing for rest, all I experience is restlessness.
Squirming and thrashing, hoping to position myself and stay one way until morning.
The impatient movements break the silence - that quiet is at first sweet, but now agonizing.
I revert to ancient methods, perhaps counting sheep.
But there are no sheep in my blank blurry visualizations, only darkness.
The black night is all around me, bringing despair and blocking out any glimmer of light and life.
Initially, the dark was still, unmoving, a presence. But now it blends and swirls, spreading even farther toward infinite distances, breaking down imaginary walls, smothering all things.
Until, I am falling. Spiraling down in a deep hole, disappearing, my shrieks hollow, in nothingness.
By now I can no longer differentiate my reality from my dreams.
I do not know where I am. But I do know something, I am content, asleep.

December the First

It rained.
Water washed over the branches, the buildings, the buses.
The pavement is damp and dark.
Just weeks ago, vivid maple leaves swirled in the air, floating on thin wisps of wind.
Only, now they are flattened, as if stapled to the ground.
Lifeless, still, trampled on.
Sticking out against the beige of the concrete, they take on a ashen hue, as if scorched by a million dancing flames.
No longer skittering across the road and resting in a crunchy pile, not for another year.

Unlikely Treasures

We took a field trip to a long deserted beach, where the tide had once lapped at the sand we stood on, but had since receded back a few hun­dred feet.
Lit­tered in the sand were old gad­gets and giz­mos that peo­ple in the beach houses had once owned.
My eye caught onto a tele­phone from the 70’s. It was long anti­quated and the paint peeled in banana yel­low strips, but I knew the receiver had once lis­tened in on whis­pered con­ver­sa­tions, and the spin dial had once turned round and round to reach the voice of beloved friends. It held mem­o­ries, so many old mem­o­ries. Why would any­one want to throw that out?
Scat­tered on the deserted beach were more objects of the like, antique and rust­ing in time.
But to me, it wasn’t a junk­yard, it was a trove of forgotten treasures.

written on November 14, 2010 for the daily word "junkyard" on oneword.com

Let Her Eat Cake

Her brother called her fat all the time, even though she was thin as a pen­cil core and light as a lark's feather.
Watch­ing her eat annoyed him to no end.
Always being penul­ti­mate, he'd found a way to crit­i­cize her.
But she ate because she had a deep pas­sion for the art of cui­sine,
and because the del­i­ca­cies were just so exquis­itely deli­cious.
Going for the golden fluffy cook­ies, she couldn’t resist her­self from a sec­ond help­ing.
Tak­ing a bite into the floury good­ness, she blissfully rel­ished the del­i­cate lay­ers of vanilla dissolving on her tongue and the growing scowl on her brother’s face.

written on November 10, 2010 for the daily word "helping" on oneword.com

Impending Storm

Her golden hair blew furi­ously in the wind,
the waves crashed vio­lently against the tall char­coal rocks,
her crested cheeks turned crim­son from the chill,
and warmed up viciously as she remem­bered what he’d said one year and three months ago.
Rage was not some­thing she usu­ally let out,
but she’d held the bur­den for too long.
The dark volu­mi­nous storm clouds swiftly approached,
they couldn’t have framed her mood more per­fectly.
The water started to freefall from the spa­cious sky,
drop­ping harder faster and larger with every sec­ond,
set­ting the stage for a rag­ing hurricane.

written on November 1, 2010 using the daily word "stage" on www.oneword.com

Whimsical Wednesday

The golden ball hung in the sky, it sent rays down­wards, shin­ing shin­ing.
The cerulean blue was calm, it shim­mered shim­mered.
And the wind whis­tled softly but steadily, blow­ing blow­ing.
It caught onto the vibrant col­ors of the mast, apple red, bal­loon blue, and bright yel­low.
Dis­ap­pear­ing into the dis­tance, car­ry­ing hap­pi­ness to another place.
Sail sail away.

written on October 29, 2010 for the daily word "sail" on oneword.com

Mixed Melody

The sharpness of the siren pierced the air. She cringed and curled up in a corner.
Then came the giver of comfort. “Don’t worry child, listen closely, for it is a song.”

Written on October 27, 2010 for the daily word "siren" on oneword.com

The Microphone was Still On

I'm actually blanking, right now.
Totally & completely blanking out.
Just like last night,
when I stepped into the bright light,
clad in an elegant dress and sparkling eyes,
ready to say my line,
and announce the next act.
My mind was blank,
just blank as a whiteboard,
a spankin' new whiteboard.
Even as I stepped out from the green room,
I knew I'd forgotten,
forgotten the words,
the words I'd rehearsed mere seconds before.
Thankfully Lillie's a quick thinker,
we skipped my line,
and started with hers,
an unmistakably awkward way to start the lines.
The rest of the lines were fine,
I actually remembered.
When we finished and made it back,
backstage, I laughed and said:
"Oh, now I remember my first line."
Later, my Dad let me know,
that everyone had heard.

written on February 22, 2010 for a free write in Mr. Green's English class (name changed for privacy)

Blank

Blank
out
of
my
mind

Blank
like a clean sheet of paper
like a brand new canvas
like snow

Blank stares.
Blank pages.
Blank lines.
Blank faces.

Empty,
Clear,
Clean,
New,
Nothing.
Blank.

written on November 23, 2009 for a freewrite in Mr. Green's English class

Young Love

It was the night of

my brother's birthday.

Celebrating 10 sweet years.

I thought back and back,

rewinding to my 10th year, 

reminiscing a past of innocence and happiness.

A past of playgrounds

and tag

and freedom and friends.

"Hey, Jonah, do you like anyone?"

He says he's friends with a girl.

Elaine.

"But do you like her?"

He says no but they're classmates, so they must be friends.

And his cheeks go rosy and he escapes to his room.

That's young love.

written on October 19, 2009 for Mr. Green's Monday Journal Free Writes (names changed for privacy)