heaven knows no bounds

et’s sit here,
God, while i
lean against
Your invisible
shoulder—or
should i say
my own. today,
are you content
inside my bones?
a heaviness lingers
behind my eyes—
i need to cry reasons
i am unsure. last night,
You said, taste & see
I AM good, close
enough as your next
prayer: help me see You
here. in the morning, i
hear a cat purr into
the phone—“pretty
kitty, she’s licking
the phone,” i imagine
he’s smiling as he says
this—we take in the
happy kitty miles apart,
my soul stills.

sometimes when i’m confused about why I have expectations or crazy hopes, God pulls me back to what i’m always drawn to: small. i swear God has me made to see unseen things people probably wouldn’t notice. like a cat purring miles away, like she knows your voice. or your uncle repeating your grandpa’s call for him down the hall, and it makes you laugh so loud.

it’s simply profound.

Weeping Myself

Once, there lived a girl,

drawn with infinite blue skied eyes.

She awoke at 6 AM each day

to her mother repeatedly calling.

Her name, Youthful.

Breakfast was ready.

Oatmeal.

Maple & brown sugar.

Her favorite.

Especially when her daddy added

butter.

She always lingered

longer than necessary,

taking each bite preciously.

She loved the slow-paced life.

After breakfast, mother helped her dress.

Sometimes, when she needed help waking fully,

her mother would put on Hilary Duff or S Club 7.

She would get lost in melody.

singing through teeth brushing,

hair fixing, and waiting for the bus.

She’d go through school with an aid

by her side.

Walking to & from class.

This woman saw her.

Her chattering mind

always finding way off

her unhinged tongue.

Talking of this boy

three years younger.

He talked to her.

He told her, I love you.

What she was dying to hear.

She told herself this was fine.

She joyed over bowling each Saturday.

The tears filling her eyes when the 7th grade teacher

placed a map marked red with D or F.

She remembers the way the teacher said,

You need to study more or try harder.

Or ask for help. What she feared most.

The aid knew her anxiety in speaking up

her need fearing a swift, curtesy no.

It was easy to for her to talk this aid.

The way conversation flowed,

as one Christmas when she surprised

the girl with a charm bracelet.

A sun. Music note. Bowling pin.

Her name. J U L I A.

Colored gold.

A reminder to shine.

She was loved.

She was cherished.

She wasn’t forgot.

She was known.

She was a friend.

She was understood.

Years have passed.

The bracelet has gone

A new one replaces

her bony left wrist.

I’M A GOD GIRL.

White against black backdrop.

A pink heart is at one end.

A name of a girl on the other.

Not her own, but starts with J,

who sings about Jesus holding

tight as she cries.

I don’t want to grow,

leaving this laughing face

a voice said to be sweet,

charming the Beloved’s heart.

She doesn’t know what to do now.

Swinging her feet against the bedside,

wondering what happened.

Why does she begin crying,

mourning a lost child,

begging me show her

Someone hears.

Blinded

I don’t want to go homee.

I say this without opening my mouth.

Letting the ink I’d pour from a pen

spill out a keyboard instead.

“Homee”– the double e signals

I am a child, desperate in keeping

laughter alive.

Evicting itself from the cellar

I made out of worded memory-

you are so defensive

whenever anyone talks to you.

Why do you stare so intensely?

I hate the silence.

Off putting at best.

I don’t have much to say

when the circling chaos

is ten times in my head.

I scream to myself: Say

something to connect.

Cars. Money. Food.

Anything.

But I can not say God.

You, I love.

I am void.

Staring.

Out the windows

of Your home.

My body.

Weak.

Limp.

Tired.

Afraid.

Welcome

I have received

since my knitted being,

unable to accept,

believe.

Bitter Dream Aftertaste

I was in Paris-
at an outdoor cafe,
umbrellaed from the sun.

I watched the bustled city.
People walking, laughing,
speedily passed by moped riders.

I paid no mind
to the food in front of me,
suddenly taken by a warning voice:

“Don’t be surprised if your friendship
drifts away. It’s life.”

Before me, stands my grandmother,
whom I hadn’t seen years before she passed.

Her white hair,
serious tone
still the same.

I looked at her warily.
“Why are you telling me this?”
I began to cry.

My vision blurred.
I couldn’t catch my breath,
gasping for composure.

I wanted to tell her,
I know life paths don’t mean
steady, parallel pattern.

Human relationship can’t
replace loneliness only
Christ can comfort.

I continue sobbing,
staring into her expressionless eyes,
my mouth stuck in a hard frown.

A minute passed.
She turned away,
walking into gay Parisian life.

I cried under cover,
drinking tear salt,
wrinkling my face, a black sky
falls over me.

I open my eyes
to the early morning
gray.

Morning

On this porch swing,
I am alone, save birdsong
and the weepies singing
about the world spinning
madly on.

Now, the song has changed-
when I’m with You, Heaven
comes closer, my breathes
sacred. Jesus. Sweet refrain.

And here again another.
You are gazing, compassion
befallen Your face. I don’t understand.

I have come to strengthen you
with raisins. The best for My
Beloved. I wish to hear of your morning.

I am self-pity full. I wish to run
with nowhere to go. I’m afraid
my dreams have no hope being
fulfilled.

I spend hours writing my guilt,
my need, my want, fear, shame.
I’m confused because these voices
won’t quiet. Yours is overshadowed
so easily.

I have drawn you in love. Sit here, I will hold you close. Deliverance
is in My hands. Hold them. Never let go.

A Look Inside My Mind

“Wow, you really have crippled yourself.”
“What?”
“Well, besides the fact you can’t walk that well, your mindset makes it real easy to bring that lovely complexion two shades lighter than the moon.”
“What is it you’re trying to tell me?”
“You’re really pale.”
“I can see that. Thanks for stating the obvious.”
“Just trying to help you.”
“Yeah. I think there was more to that statement.”
“About your falling ability? You’ll never know how much joy I get from those moments I make you less. You know that morning you were going to try for a “miracle”?
“Yes.”
“You wouldn’t have fallen in the dirt so quickly if I wasn’t such a master manipulator at making you believe God or anyone else will ever accept the sinner that is you.”
”A real charmer you are.
“I’m charming you with daily false truth aren’t I?”
“Why not just call them what they are?”
“Because any way I twist it, I still manage to fool you.”
“I should really go pray now.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’m trying to believe in things above not below.”
“That’s where you’re going one day, you know?
“This body, yes. Death isn’t something I want to contemplate right now.”
“I can make it happen for you. Quick. Painless. Easy.”
“Every time I believe you, I feel myself slipping into a slow, panful death, hardening with the passing days. How does that fit into the ‘helpful’ category?
“It does comply with your outer appearance. I’m more known for stealthily stealing joy away. Haven’t you read the Bible?”
Yes, but I haven’t read in depth about Adam & Eve, and how tempting you made that apple sound.”
“Better believe it. I’ve been feeding you sinful apples since high school. All that fear holding you captive, as you watched your parents consumed by my fire, ending in the destruction of your family, that was me too. You’ve always had me wanting the best for you.”
“God, I know You’re always listening. Please tell me this isn’t true.”
“Bet you $10 He doesn’t answer you.”
“I can wait.”

Mercy

A ten dollar bill sat in my pocket, form-fitted, & harder to reach that envious paper, whispering, “Hold to me, tight.”
They say because I’m weaker physically, I need to take what I can get.
Washingtons & Benjamins won’t be provided freely forever.

The government can’t be your well of sustainability plays like a symphony-
swelling waters from my eyes, each night when reality looms into my dreams.

God, I’m spending my nights staring at the ceiling, wanting to throw every ounce of green away, away, away-

dig a hole & bury every selfish aim with numbers adding to hundreds I can’t handle properly-I’m using it as a safety net, aren’t I?

I’m entangled in a web only I could weave-constructed with the words of those that don’t believe someone in the sky can provide love through sacrifice.

Okay, I’m afraid to throw everything so
freely given to me so I may glorify my King & I won’t bother giving empty phrases meant to show for an apology-

my actions must be appalling.

I’d love for comforting,
but the touch of Your hand scares me more than my eyes trying to remember a death at Calvary for my freedom-

look at what dying for protection’s sake has done-opened my mouth to bring spit upon the face free of blemishing.

Tidal Emotions

Confusion:
water pressure colliding against rocks
refusing goodbye.