Dear Jealousy,
A heart at peace gives life to the body,but envy rots the bones.Proverbs 14:30Your kisses were always
corrosive, you know
I can still feel the hole your lips
left on my heart
Those stalks of insatiable
withered and proud
__________________________less green
than you and I like to pretend
your eyes
were never a meadow, you know
and I've found only ashes
inside your embrace
Yet
order a pint of this
____________dead aching grass
because
rather your acid than
no rain at all.
it's over.
Hello Society. How are you this fine morning, my darling? You with your new Polo jeans and your fat-free latte from Starbucks? No, not how are you; how am I? Is my hair okay, Society? What about my out-fit? I mean, what one wears is supposed to make a statement, right? At least, that's what you always said. What does this out-fit say about me? Does it say I'm too liberal? Too conservative? Does it say I shop at that GAP?
Society, do you think I'm beautiful?
Because I just have this feeling...
I have this feeling that more expensive hair gel will not make me a happier person. I have a feeling that maybe even super models have pores, and that there might be more to life than your Jenny Craig and your Cosmopolitan.
Have you been keeping something from me?Society, does this make me look fat? Does anything make me look fat? It does doesn't it? I KNOW YOU THINK I LOOK FAT, SOCIETY! WHY DON'T YOU JUST SAY IT?!?
I'm sick of all your euphemisms!
No. Don't apologize.
Don't tell me I'm my own person- I'm not. I'm you. I am one more carbon copy of everything you wanted me to be.
Don't lie to me, Society. I know the truth.I know all your shiny models in the tooth-paste ads are really just ordinary people who sometimes have bad breath and don't always feel like smiling. I've had it this time. Enough's enough. Stop trying to buy my love with flowers and mocha breeze flavoured lipstick. What does Mocha Breeze mean, anyway?
I don't know, Society...I don't think this is going to work out.
unsung
Bring to me all of your
________________-silent onesand from them a chorus
to sing my refrain.
Bring to me all of your
________________-shattered ones
from what you called
broken glass
Treasure I gain.
bring to me all of your
-grey
-ashen
-whores
your blind and your
_________________naked
your lonely and poor
Bring to me all of your
_________________-voiceless ones
_________________ blessed the
song of those
you called
______________________unsung
sing
Now, I usually try to refrain from making references to my personal life on my blog because well, who the heck cares; but stay with me, I
do have a point.
My friend Katelynn plays the saxophone. No- you don't understand...I mean she really really plays it, like well. Last night I went to hear her Jazz Ensemble play their last concert of the year and, although I walked in expecting great music, I walked out with a lot more.
Now, Katelynn and I have been friends since forever (and by forever I mean grade 7...that's close enough right?) and forever is a long enough time to get to know someones strenghts. Katelynn's strength is music; it always has been (she was one of those kids who played the piano before she could walk). What I did not realize however, is that music is also her passion and is, in some strange, beautiful way, inextricably woven into the fabric of her bones.
Now for those of you who are unfamilar with the experience, there is not much to look at when it comes to jazz concerts. For this reason, I found myself mostly staring at the musicians. Most of them, while not playing, just kind of sat there waiting for their turn to come in. They looked a little bored, actually. Not Katelynn. She closed her eyes and swayed a little with this kind of satisfied look on her face. It was almost as if (and forgive me for being sentimental) the music was coming not from the other instruments, but from her own soul. When I watch her play, I always get the feeling that something intimate is taking place, like hearing lovers whisper in a language I don't speak.
There is something almost sacred about seeing someone do the thing they were created for. Something otherworldly and radient about a person singing in harmony with God's song for their life. I am tempted to get all poetic here about destiny and what-have-you, but I won't. You all know what I am talking about, but even
I don't know what I mean.
Maybe someday.
Here's hoping we all find our song.
Rise
There are few things in this life more pleasant than watching the sun rise over the water. I have always known that creation was sacred, and sunrises pretty much prove my point. There is something about being awake while the rest of the world sleeps on. Something so fragile and perfect. Sometimes on these mornings, alone with God and the trees, I find myself almost paralyzed. Speechless and breathless I sit staring at the sky lest- I move and shatter the intimate silence.
Sunsets are more spectactular than sunrises though, and I'm not quite sure why. Sunsets are breathtaking and violent, a thousand fallen rainbows which lie bleeding in the sky. Sunsets are struggle and war and victory. Sunsets are the end. But sunrises- sunrises are different. Quite anticlimatic really, when you get right down to it. Sunrises are subtle, gentle; they never look quite like you expect them to. Sunrises are diluted, almost. Tentative and weak, it is hard at sunrise to believe the vengence of the noon-day heat. Maybe that's how it is with the big things of life. Maybe all things glorious and beautiful must come in like a whisper and out like a burning blaze of glory.
waiting for the rain
Lefthere in this desert
in this silent
thirsty twilight
Left counting stars
or hours
or aching grains of sand
Left with the rocks
and the wind
and the souls of ancient ground
Lefthere to drink these
angel-drops
just waiting for the rain
purposely untitled
and
your
silence
cracks
my
veins
like
ice
but
my
silence
brings
you
peace
voiceless
I always had a way with words
but you
you make me voiceless
(whispering has that effect on people)
you say there are only
two ways to speak,
then you hold one hand to my throat
_______________________________________stilling
_______________________________________harsh
_______________________________________vibrations
my syllables are ...
what's the word?
(you take my words away)
now I am mute
illiterate
and you can be alone
in your unpolluted silence
