Against His Bosom, I Turn

Ask me not, astronaut,

why gravity scares my heart,

not the words I speak swiftly.

On your collarbone, there

lies a covering of what I dream

a piece of moon underneath.

You whisper, there is more

below my skin & bone.

I tell you, I hear every night

while I am alone in the darkeess.

I am afraid I’ve missed it.

Whispers don’t catch my eardrums

as audible demand for work to be done..

You’re ending such talk, darling.

When you go to me rather than humanity,

failure won’t come boulder heavy.

I wish to fly amongst twinkles

said to be your eyes, their burn

said to scorch me; but my flesh

begs me go. Go out, find immediate

break of your will. Crawl back.

hands & knees. Beg try until

shame dismisses you completely.

Your eyes ask me believe I am worthy

flight within spaces between our fingers.

It’s difficult to be still.

Keep breaking your heart

way of shudder against touch

I know I need.

I step back, away,

your eyes shining:

you are forgiven.

I whisper, will you hold me

past pluto my eyes can’t dissipate?

Fall on my breast, dear darling,

weep if you must,

but look into my face—

I do not hate you.

For when I look into your blue,

I see the depth of my Son.

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?

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