Instead, I Bit My Begging Tongue Seeking Rest

I keep hearing a whisper

small enough to come

from my troubled breath.


I press the number,

listening as a woman questions

how she can help.

I explain calling yesterday,

how I haven’t received

an answer yet.

My voice becomes

silent, static filling

my eardrums thinking

maybe she hung up.

Nervous tense.

Surprise breaks forth,

almost a laugh

not able to clear

the crackling. Well,

of course you haven’t heard

back. It takes up to 48 hours,

2 days for someone to hear back.

I don’t catch anything, except

48 hours. 2 days. I go quiet,

hoping this will sink,
stick as a post-it note

He’s been writing all over

my heart: Be still & know

I am God. I will fight this

battle for you. I speak again,

Okay, thank you. I know

I sounded dead. No, I think

empty of any control, better suits

the tone aiding my grief.

I wanted to tell her: I’m doing

what I’m asked. I don’t want

to go here, but this is my only

option. I’m so tired of working

for approval, From you, everyone else,

God, and most importantly myself.

I have to reach the top, without

asking for help. Of course

I want friends, but they distract me

from work I should, know I have to

get done. I can’t multitask. One

or the other, or none. I want Him, God,

to prolong this as long as He wants.

I have made too many mistakes,

making any good and perfect gift

given by my Father above,
a too soon undeserving cry:

I hurt You. You can’t give me

anything. I don’t deserve anything

if I bawl, instead of thanking You

for loving me through each failing.

I’m sorry if this too much,

but you must know the longing

when you’ve strayed away

your lover’s hand, groping

day and might to rest

the apologetic fingers inside.

He Already Sees Me This Way

She says, are you feeling okay?

Absolute concern coming

off her tongue, proceeding a follow-

up to my yes. Why are you laying like

that? My body is curled in question

mark form. Rigid. Stiff. Pointed.

Sharp. Period. I don’t answer. But,

you’re okay, right? Yes. I say,

nodding appropriately. I think I lied.

I couldn’t bear saying I don’t know

how to trust Him. Jesus has hidden

His face. Or, I’ve gone more blind.

What if I am cast off forever? What

if I’m doing His will of sitting still

horribly wrong? I’m hungry, not for

the oranges placed in front of me

this morning, but to sit with this Man

who you claim makes me

depressed. Today, a promise

He made, to keep me strong so I

may dwell in blameless friendship

when He finally brings me before

arms everlasting, has me thinking.

What a horrible friend I’ve been,

giving not a second glance His

direction. He says, Darling, how are

you? I hesitate, wanting to say what

my heart keeps waiting to dispel:

I miss You. The way You seem to

sigh unforgettable breath each time

I sing my only hope is You.

My portion and my strength is never

work I complete, a check list You are

sternly to be boxed in. I’m drawn to

show how worthy I am. Not to be

still. Let Him blanket me without

needing tremble as if I am in wrong.

He loves me, this wayward child,

roaming land after land for approval.

I’m the prodigal son and his brother,

staying right where I am, but aching

to spend all of my father’s wealth,

and still be seen special.

Burden of Proof

Akin to a breakup,

I spend this day covered

with earthly warmth.

A blanket once white,

dirtied black by dog hair.

If I’m still a seed,

than this is mockery

from my head. loud

intrusions where peace

should be left to grow.

I can’t hear a word

You are saying,

Darling, darling,

I saved you because

I see ephinany every time

you seek My whisper,

come nearer. I long

warming your paling ears,

straining for praise or condemnation.

Whether you are wrong or right.

Whether you are doing.



Your thoughta clamoring

speech unsightly.

You are not unworthy.

You are altogether lovely,

breathing My promise:

call and I will come

take ahold of your tensed right hand.

I will kiss each tear stain

from left to right,

as one reads treasured word.

Inked by faraway friend,

lover with candid truth.

Dear Devil, I Hate You

Here, I sit rocking

worried whispers making a way

down my silenced heart. You should

call and check. Do what you’re

asked, before I bury you with much

guilt. Enough to taste dirt when you

swallow. Oh what, you going to cry

again? Baby. That’s what you are.

Such a child. Daddy says, wait and

be still. You don’t get anything

accomplished by watching leaves

fall. You need to be productive,

even forceful if you want to be

successful. Don’t you want that?

You’ve made, what, maybe five

dollars from a book that will most

likely never be a best seller. Not with

seven pieces of your insane cries for

Jesus to come hold you. Show His

face to you. Look in your eyes and

tell you: Darling, you don’t have to

try so hard to make me love you.

I already do. Always have. Always

will. You are living in a fantasy world,

if you think for one second you can

get through this life waiting on

someone you can’t see. You know

how well that worked out with your

first real “love.” Didn’t he say you

could put anything into words? Buy

all your books because money was

not an issue? Love you forever &

always, as you sung along with

Taylor Swift? Or that night

he pointed to your heart, saying:

I love you and only you. And you

cried? No wonder he left. How do

you know He first loved you is true?

Sure, He died on a cross, bleeding

so you wouldn’t have to believe

these condemning stones I am

bruising you with. Black & blue

is better looking on you anyway.

He denied my gift to give Him

all of this broken earth, my request

to turn stones to bread, or be lifted

high by angel embrace.

He told me to get away, to love Him only.

Man cannot live on bread alone.

Do not test Me.

What kind of love is this, if you can’t

offer gifts or ask questions?

Shouldn’t you see His glory?

You can’t see good, so how will you

know these plans are prospering

if He never shows His face?

If This Is Loneliness, I Am Honest

I wake early where world is hushed,

black bruise turned dark blue.

Lightest whisper coming still

a well to break my will. I do not want,

nor wish to show my weakness, but

my eyes fill with wonder, if lonely

shows my desperation for You.

Someone said this is an intimate cry

for You to hold my doubting face

between compassionate, scarred

hands, simmering with remark:

You are beautiful, there is no blemish

I see. You’ve made mistakes. You

have run and sought idols,

promising: never will I idle you. When

you see they all leave you, you cry,

Doesn’t anyone love me? Why won’t

anyone stay beside me long?

I watch your fall below, as a leaf

draws near the dirtied earth.

Stepped on & over, you forgo love,

burying your brilliant color under

soiled shame. I don’t deserve this,

a whisper caught between your

cracking spine, where I began.

You were a forethought.

The sun & moon could go in night’s

cover. A sparrow could fall mid flight

without their companion. How much

more do I love you! Why do you try

so hard to prove yourself to me?

I don’t care whether you didn’t call,

even though every thought is telling

you to push away the wait. I’m

asking you to be still. Your mind runs

away: I am not being productive. I’m

not doing what I’m told. I’m making

a mistake. I am a mistake. I must be

upsetting You, too. I should move

faster. Fast as these thoughts so I

make You proud. I can’t fail You, too.

Darling, your worry breaks My heart.

I clothe every flower, how much

more I care for the state of your

heart. You do not have to fear,

I am here with you. Do not fear

gazing in My eyes longer than you

are used to. I want you to know

I see you. All the pain. All the fear

whether this is true. I am no human,

but I clothed Myself in skin, tempted

with the riches of the world, tested

by Satan, to throw Myself under to

be lifted high again by angels. You

don’t have to test me. I am your

God, friend who knows the

weakness to believe you are the only

one who is misunderstood, lonely.

I hung on a cross, naked, pinned

with blood all down my body.

My mother cried with my friends,

knowing I was to die.

Stones and whips made Me cry out:

Father, why have you forsaken Me?

Forgive them, for they know not

what they do. I was alone, empty,

afraid. Still, I said, Father, I place My

spirit into Your hands. This is how

I love you. I love you first, before

Myself, so I may come to you every

day with Love upon my lips, glinting

shine in My eyes, waiting to hear you

speak sweetly your request: My face

absent reproach you announce over


A Prayer From Your Ungrateful Child

Joy looks softly, what’s wrong for real?

You upset because you complained?

You’re human, honey.

That’s not all, I say, my bottom lip

turning down any request I made

with myself to remain quiet, unheard.

My eyes rain truth only an ungrateful

child speaks fluidly.

I don’t want to go home.

I say this holding a chicken nugget

to my mouth, as answer comes

I never know how to take.

Enjoy the time you have now.

I can’t. I cry, looking straight ahead

at the empty seat. On the right,

someone rises with compassion

open wide enough to engulf all

sorrow I have grown accustomed to,

even before I allow You to quiet me.

My Friend, I can’t enjoy Your

company, without thought,

He’s going away. He’s leaving you


He doesn’t love you. Why approach

His thrown with such a ridiculous

request: I want more of You. No

tears stroking my face. No sighs

making a liar laugh at my distress

waiting for you to shine bright upon

my face. I want to enjoy You on

earth, before I remark how my time

is gone with color photos of my

youth. Show me, Jesus, seventy

times seven, how much You delight

in me, Your small, weak, and needy

child, asking joy to become

accepted rather than wept.

Love Me Until I’m Empty Apology

Here I go,

again down the rabbit hole.

Burying myself in tears undeserving

my cries: Jesus, I am drowning in my

dreams coming now to wake me.

I’ve been Noah, but my boat hasn’t

been filled with two of every animal,

but self condemning lie. Yahweh,

I hear the garbage in my mind.

You are unworthy of this gift

He’s given you. He’ll take away

if you don’t make enough money.

You know why everyone’s barely

talking to you? They see your sin.

You had to declare it to the world.

Now, you’re ugly. You should be

diving in right now. Go on. You may

not be afraid, but it’s not like God’s

listening or watching. We both know

you’re lonely and numbness is best

company when you can’t escape

me. You see this every night, might

as well join in and die in your own

personal way. Not literally, no, but

your flesh needs a fill. How about

I bargain with you? Ninety-three

percent goes to me, and six percent

goes to this Friend you can’t see.

I want all of your clear view

obstructed, so you’ll be lonely.

What you’re used to anyway.


Jesus, I know Your hands bear

this prayer I can’t thank You for,

other than cry my disbelief, looking

out at the moonless night.

This is love, isn’t it? Where I am a

mess, but You see no less than my

radiant beauty?

I do not have to condemn myself,

but oh, how easy it is when loveless

tongues remark with seeded heart.

Baiting you worm after worm,

snickering as you finally bite.

You smile, defending yourself

against the weakness known.

Sensitive. Emotional.

A human weeping willow.

I know that’s a lie because You wept

on a cross for every carrier of stone,

breaking Your body, so I could relax

my shoulders’ effort to work myself,

a warrior child fighting to be seen


Amiss A Week A Month


I sit in front of you,

watching sparks peel

away, carried to the bottom

of my blues. Not my eyes,

but workout pants. I did not

workout in the traditional way.

No walking, jogging, or running.

I sat on a rocking chair, leaves

blown by breath to join cloistered



What I am told,

no sung, I am worth

more than. Today,

these leaves communed,

hushed to the ground as I

smiled and laughed childishly

with a distanced friend over Jesus

being a ghost. He’s as the real

as your flame warming the pain

down within my belly. I can’t look

at you seeing fury. I can only wonder

if Moses taking off his shoes

on holy ground, slackened

his muscles as my joy falling

prey to your dying wishes.

Where’s Joy?

The way I am wishing

to become a winter song.

When words fall out my

lovingkindness drawn mouth,

they will be quiet welcome.

Snow collects on dirtied soil

without asking: May I rest here

awhile? We must be okay with the

chill, because we carry left over cold

as a souvenir for our hearts. We

point out past wrongs, you left

school, you won’t go back.

You’ll never hold this down,

pay this back. You’ll never be like

me. You’re a jerk. Idiot. Asshole.

Sucker. Now replace that with an F.

This is what I hear. I can’t lie, saying

complaint doesn’t rear it’s ugly

blackhead, pimple I am sure will

need popped by week’s end. I can

never see them, but they are as

painful as these words slain on a

cross. More bloody than the slightest

whimper I make about hurt I can’t

control. Joy is hard to swallow,

especially when I’m handed this gift

daily. I fight to believe the way other

people talk, never has to be

normalcy. People I don’t know well.

dare to call me sweet, beautiful,

friend, as I swim up a current, so

don’t fall into conformity. If I am

honest, I have overthought more on

God’s love for me, believing every

day, His love is the same as my

family. The quick snake tongues

never pride empty. Strike. Strike.

Strike. It’s not a turkey, I’ve only

bowled once perfectly.

It’s me, trying not swing back at their

falsehoods to produce a grand slam

belief: this is the way life has to be.