If Only

I stop
For only just
One moment,
Never taking
Longer than my
Yearning for you allows.
You, whom I
Only trust
Under certain
Circumstances.
Only when
Unrealistic expecations
Lord over me the
Dreams of
Knights in shining armor.
Nightmares of monsters
Of dragons and
Witches
Warlocks
Hags,
All curse me
To live
In this
Waiting for you.
All stare while
Sinister thoughts
Raid my
Ever-dwindling hope.
All make the
Longing
Linger.
You don't see
The pain.
How it crushes
Inward and will
Never let me stand.
Kneeling, I grasp and
I struggle for
Nothing. And my
Grave is dug deeper.

October

Eight years old,
Sent out into
The wild
To gather the
Cast off trappings
Of nature's
Wooden wadrobe.
Fresh dew adorns
Dappled autumn leaves
While flitted wings
Skip from withered
Blossom to
Withered blossom.
A wheelbarrow sits
Filled with treasures
Of the fallen kind
Guarded by three
Feet of freckles
And auburn hair.
A man of pumpkins
Keeps watch o'er
The road
In his cracked
And weathered
Plastic throne.
The smell of death
Is sweet
And mingles with
The chill
Of October air
While cars pass
Over nature's
Red carpet.
Called by name
Comes running
Three
Feet of freckles
Into arms
That bury auburn
Hair and leave
October chill
Outside
The broken screen
Door.

Unable

All I could do was stand and stare. I heard the wailing of the crowd behind me, intermingled with drunken cheers and shouts of vulgarity. What a horrible place to die.

A woman stood to my right, weeping and crying out, reaching her hands to the heavens in pure desolation. Some others were gathered around, close to the bottom of the tree, prostrated and sobbing. But all I could do was stare straight ahead. Droplets of rainwater slowly moved through the crude grooves of the bark. I stared so hard at the base that I knew it like the back of my hand. The holes plastered with dirt and grime. The rough edges splintering in every direction. The stain of blood. Blood. I felt something warm drop on my cheek. I raised my hand to touch my face, and it came away red. I tried to look up, but I didn't really want to see. I was there, wasn't that enough? Did I have to look too? No. Let me just stare at this expanse of mahogany in front of me. Another drop fell. And I wiped it away, this time without even looking.

The wailing of the crowd grew more distant, and then stopped entirely. I turned around, and no one was there. I looked to my right, to see the woman still kneeling, hands still outstretched, mouth still agape in crying out. I turn back to the wooden post in front of me. Another drop falls on my cheek. I can't move my hand. Another drop falls. Another drop. Another. Just let me be, I think. I'm here. I'm sorry. I can't look, but I'm here. That's enough. It's enough. Another drop falls. The blood runs down my forehead, and stings my eyes. I close them. I can't help it. I don't want to see anymore. I can't even look at the tree in front of me.

Amber

The cool rock wall
Chills me

And I can't tell

If I'm drowning.

The slick water

Covering the face,

Moistens my hands

And smells
Like rich dirt.

I step further and further

And further,

Further,

Carefully

Making my way

Across 

The algae-covered stones.

The misty light
Reveals the particles
Of dust
Along its beam.
A drop of water
Trickles,
Endlessly
Dripping, dripping,
Dripping
Into an unforgiving
Abyss.
Slip.
Splash.
Dampened clothes
Cling
To my flesh.
Something swirls beneath
The surface.
Dark circles
Mingle with
The amber fluid.
Unfamiliar sounds
Echo, echo
Echo
Bouncing back
And forth
Between the damp
Surfaces.
There is nothing
And no end;
No end
To the damp.
No end
To the dripping
Water.
No end
To the dark
Circles
Mingled with
The amber fluid.

Bothersome

A lot of things bother me. Putting on eyeliner. Sex slavery. World hunger. Hangnails. (Not necessarily in that order). But certain things more than others. Like the phrase, "I've been through a lot." Only, however, when it's used as an excuse. (WARNING! This might get a bit past PG rating...)

Bull. Shit. We've all been through a lot. So? What are you doing about it? A person can't justify their behavior by telling me that they've "had a hard life"; just no. No way. So you've had a hard life? And that means you can treat other people like SHITtake mushrooms? Because you've had a troubled or broken or hurtful past? I've been through a LOT of crap too. But I don't go around being a manipulative son of a biscuit to everyone I meet. I don't justify the bad things I do to people by saying my life is hard. Ummm newsflash much? Life is fucking hard. IT IS SO HARD. And life sucks. A lot. 

Now that we're on the train to hopelessville....

Your life may have been hard. And it probably wasn't all your fault. More often than not, we're a product of how we were raised. But it seriously gets under my skin when that's as far as it goes. Because I've SEEN people break the cycle. I've SEEN people actually get off their rears and DO something with the hard life they were given. Don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly solving world hunger over here. My life has not at ALL been a walk in the metaphorical Narnian park. And I fail a lot. I do a lot of dumb things. But it's not because my life was so hard. I don't fall down into the dark abyss because I've been through so much. I fail because I choose to. And I fall because I don't look where I'm going. 

And, sometimes, I don't want to get back up. Actually, most of the time. And I find myself saying, "Well, it's not really my fault that I'm mean to people. Or that I do sinful things. I mean. I've been through a lot." Yeah, but SO WHAT? What does that mean? Does that mean I get to justify being an awful person to those around me? No. Duh. Having a rough past doesn't give me the ability to wallow in self-pity for the rest of my life, even if that's what I really want to do. 

Just keep in mind that you're not the only person having a rough time of it. We're all struggling. We're all sinking. But we're not all blaming our lives. Some of us really do need to blame ourselves. We are the ultimate reason that we fail. I know this is harsh. A lot of people struggle with things beyond their control, emotions they genuinely can't change even though they want to. But we need to stop externalizing everything. If we don't, we won't break the "hard life" cycle, and our decision not to will affect our future generations. Don't let Satan get into your head. Don't let him tell you that there's nothing you can do. Don't let him lie to you and say you're not good enough to change your situation.

Discouragement never comes from God. Don't let it fester. Don't let it take root and manifest itself in the way you treat yourself and others. Don't take the helpless way out. We're all struggling.

But what are you gonna do to change it?

A Love to Love a Love

"We have this sneaking suspicion that to be known is to be loved, fully. And yet, loved in spite of ourselves. So, I wanna free you up here. Because if you're trying to be a good person because you just want to show everyone and prove to everyone what a good person you are, you're always gonna fail. Because you're screwed up. You're human." 

It's as if we're afraid to be loved. We're afraid that someone could look us in the eye and see all of our darkness, all of our muck and grime, and then love us. We think we have to be better first, in order to deserve it. We're afraid of being unworthy of this love, so we shut it out when it calls. We tell it no one is home, come back later. Leave a message. *Beep*.

I think that part of the reason I reject the love I'm so desperately searching for is because I can't wrap my head around such an infinite and merciful beauty. But how does that make sense? Have you ever seen something so beautiful that you've had to look away? Maybe. I guess it's possible. Maybe it makes sense because I've never been confronted with this type of beautiful love before. I know the love of my family, my friends, and even the occasional fleeting romance. But nothing substantial. At least, not that I think. I mean, I know in my head that I am loved by an infinitely merciful, super-eminent, almighty being. But I just can't get my heart to agree. Or maybe it's the other way around. There's something inside me that knows it's true. But there's something else at war. Something else that just doesn't understand.

A friend of mine had something rather wise to say on the subject. As we sat on a concrete wall contemplating the fact that we both yearn to know how to love, she had some interesting insight.

"Lydia, I think what you need is for someone to fall in love with you. Because I think, once you know the full and complete love of an imperfect person, how much more will you understand the complete and perfect love of God?"

 Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe, once I'm able to grasp the idea that something bigger than the universe loves me, I'll be able to understand and accept the love of a person. I have no idea. I'm still figuring it out. I know I'll find the answer eventually, but I haven't discovered it just yet. It's a good thing the universe is seemingly infinite. This might take a while.