not only sorrow

last goodbye,

the Christmas holiday

severed my heart open –

a blue bucket of gold,

ache over the cries over

the phone, beside my

bareness. my guilt broke 

& God, are we waking up 

again? Who was I when 

young, a girl hungry for 

affirmation? I sat at her 

table, penciling flowers

but Abba, I never felt good

I took out library book upon

library book on love. I sat

in a bedroom with light 

shining on pages about

a long distance love – 

what I soon felt for a boy

she’d said I forget why I 

went out with him. I laughed

to myself. I’d love to forget,

but the memory of cantaloupe 

& his words: you’re beautiful,

did you know that? over & over

until she said, okay, I think she gets it–

explains my ache for

attention. I never wanted the 

hollow, but the depth beyond 

a well–how a child dreams all

things are possible. 

Prompts here & here. I kind of combined both. All these memories feel like dreams, one that died and the other that continues on, or is changing. One person who helped me see Jesus sees beyond my body & another the power of His love.

I like to believe like a child, but way harder than I thought. Instead of drawing, I write like crazy and cry. The crying is like a child at least.

Joy is there too, harder to find, but Jesusis working it:

😍 this will be haiku. And an awesome end to national poetry month.


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