To Publish or Not to Publish?

Okay, so I usually don't write regular blog entries, just poetry, but I've had an idea on my mind for a while now and I would kind of like your help. I really want to publish a book of my poetry and reflections, but whenever I get closer and closer to the opportunity, my confidence level greatly drops. I love to write, and I think some of my stuff is good and lets be honest, some of it isn't haha.

I believe that words have this amazing ability to change our world and I really want to be a part of that. The way someone says something can change my mood, my perspective on situations, my understanding of God and my understanding of myself. Words have the ability to inspire me, motivate me and develop me. No wonder why the Bible talks so much about what we say with our lips. Now, I'll be real with you, my stuff should in no way ever be considered for canonization. I know, I know, it's tempting! But don't do it haha. What I write is just me thinking and feeling out loud, with the expectation that someone else out there has felt/thought it too.

Anywho, the whole point of this blog entry is to ask you guys if you think I should publish my poetry that you have seen featured here? Does my writing mean anything to you? Has it changed you in some way? Be brutally honest...even painfully honest if need be ;)

Thanks.

Life is.

Life is hard.

It comes at you with no permission and failed predictions.

People tell you to take it one day at a time,

But really it's each moment.

It's conquering each second

And hoping to God that when you look back,

There are no regrets.

Life is blind.

Most days you feel like you are running this race,

With scabs over your eyes

Wondering what in God's name is up ahead.

And all you hear Him say is "hush little child,

Don’t you cry.

Daddy's gunna write your lullaby."

Life can be lonely.

There are seasons when you look around,

And everyone is moving while you are standing still.

All that you know doesn't really feel like home anymore.

Some days you find that the train has stopped coming through on the hour.

Nothing is normal; Nothing is stable.

Kinship can be hard to find,

Or at least hard to feel.

Life can be cold.

There are times when winter follows you,

Despite the weather, despite the town.

Evil's frost nips you in the but,

And you wonder what's the point?

If hate can kill a man's love,

Steal a child's smile,

And bury a woman's beauty…

You wonder if perhaps we were really left here to die.

Life is terrifying.

It calls you to something bigger than yourself.

It demands of you to be great,

But greatness requires courage, and integrity

Which causes you to fear the birth of disappointment.

Some days you feel like the world is

waiting for you to make a move.

Waiting for you to do your thing.

6,692,030,27 people.

Cheering, chanting, screaming….waiting.

What if you fall?

What if you fail?

Life is humbling.

Some days you realize that the very fact that you are breathing is a miracle.

It can knock the wind right out of you.

At the realization there is indeed blood on your hands,

All you can do is cry and wonder why,

You're still here?

No matter how good the mirror says you are,

No matter how high you hold your chin,

Life is not your own.

And if that's true,

If I am not my own,

Then even though life is

Hard,

Blind,

Lonely,

Cold,

Terrifying,

Humbling,

Then you know it will all be okay.

Pain will come, and hearts may break.

But there is a Mender.

A Keeper who…

Helps you to press on,

And see what's not quite clear.

Who provides companions and unexpected community.

Who warms the nose and melts the soul.

Who brings light to darkness and comforts those who are afraid.

One who takes the humbled,

And humbles them even more.

Life may be a lot of difficult things,

But one most excellent is this:

Life is.

To Let Them Go

They say if you love someone

You've got to let them go.

And that a tree needs pruning

In order to grow.

But I never realized when

I picked up the shears

It would hurt me so.

One moment you burn with anger and rage,

Then when the dial tone breaks silence,

Your heart crumbles

As that red balloon slips away.

I lay my head down at night,

Seeking sweet dreams.

Only to wake with a jolt,

In fear that balloon may bust.

Why is it that the heart must beat?

Not for blood...

But why for the sake of love?

I made a pact with the angels

And the Keeper of the stars,

I said I was in it until the end...

But it seems my lips

Have led the way these days.

And I'm afraid I just can't stay.

It's a damn shame

To have to walk past the one

You once walked to.

To hide the tears with a smile

As they enter the room.

But there comes a time,

When you must neglect a narcissist

And break their mirror, mirror on the wall...

Because lately they're not pretty at all.

As I let go,

As I place all my chips on the belief

That the Keeper will keep him too,

As I walk out in the cold

I breathe...

And hope to God it's not for long.

O Tragedy of All Time

Last night when I went to bed
In my head upon my pillow
Swam the human sadness
Screaming out across the world.

If Cain could come to kill dear sweet Abel,
Whatever shall we do?
An apple a day is supposed to keep the doctor away,
But years ago 64 teeth sunk into that sweet, crisp flesh
And people have been losing their minds ever since.

Kings tossing baby boys into the crocodile’s mouth,
Daughters getting fathers drunk,
sleeping with them in an attempt to save the world.
Nations dance, and sing, kill and screw
all for a block of wood that can give them nothing.
Friends betray friends for a little bit of silver.

Fingers are pointed, stones are tossed,
Whips, chains, swords.. a cross.

A mother drowns her babies in a lake across from WalMart.
A scared boy blows a pistol in his hellish high school halls.
A daughter flees in the night from her daddy’s drunken fists.
A friend drinks, and drinks, and drinks to numb.
Another snorts and snorts and snorts for fun.
Children sleep in cardboard boxes, with naked pot bellies.
Husbands and wives fight behind million dollar doors.
Sickness sweeps over a town, infecting and weakening the lives within it.

The Boogie man says, knock, knock
And before we can respond with who’s there,
It breaks down the door without permission
Rushing in to steal, to destroy, to kill.
This is no joke; there is no punch line.
Just the punch, just the blow.

As I lay there, slept came slow, but come it did.
I woke up, and I hoped that the morning had brought sun, and shine
and butterflies or something like that.
Instead it rained. And it rained hard.
I watched the drops trickle down my window
And I wondered if heaven was crying.

I remembered the pointing fingers,
The tossed stones, the cross.
And I know that this is not what You intended.
That when You said don’t pick the apple,
don’t pick the apple!
You knew that when it came to knowing evil
We just couldn’t handle the truth.

The cursed bite broke us all,
Ringing in our ears like blunt chalk on its board.
Humanity fell to its knees weeping ever so violently,
Rocking back and forth,
back and forth.
We became lost.

Pity. Shame. O tragedy of all time.

You saw us there, said don’t despair.
I will not leave you lying there.
The prophets rang out and a story was told,
One day a manger would behold,
A Prince, A King, our coming Lord
Not by armies, soldiers and sword.
But love shall cast out all evil and fear,
Whispered heavens darling, dear.
And then You came.

As we scratched and screamed and chewed our nails,
You came to free us from ourselves.
And because of You
Because of you…
I am found.

Pity. Shame. O tragedy of all time need not be my fate.
This man of darkness will not own my flesh.
I am no longer a puppet on strings,
Not a caged bird who sings,
But free.
Though sorrow and suffering come my way,
There also come a day,
When it all shall end.

The Monster in Me

Here it is again,
This monster in me.
It grabs hold of me,
Choking out what is good.

It hurts, it hits, it hates,
It holds my head up in pride.
It spits in her face with every stride.

Me, I don’t like it.
I hate being this monster.
I clench my teeth,
And ball my hands into fists.
I hope the monster stays away,
But it increases my heart rate,
Explodes, stinging the prey.

How long must I battle it?
How long will I give in?
How many more times will I become its puppet?

I try, I cry and hope to die,
But all that doesn’t disguise,
Or demise,
The monster that eats me inside.

God smite the insect.
Crush the beast.
Guard my heart on which it hopes to feast.
Make me clean.
Make me better.
Tear away this scarlet letter.
Strip me down.
Mold this clay.
Slash and slay this snake away.
Place a lock on me, no monster can control.

How could I cause another to cry?
How could I slander your name?
The hypocrite must die.

I’m sorry…
I’m sorry…
I’m sorry.

Forgive me for their pain.
Here is goes again…
My remorse.
My plea.
But God please make this the end
Of the monster in me.

The Colors of My Questions

The more and more I learn in life,
The more questions I have.
The more I think I’ve come to know myself, find myself,
The more I wonder if I really get me at all.
The more life reveals its secrets and methods,
And the more I feel I’m getting the hang of this thing,
The more I feel life slipping through my hands like grains of sand.
The more and more I come to know my God;
The more and more I understand His truth;
The more and more I experience His grace, and mercy, and power…
The more I see that His ways are not my ways
And I really don’t comprehend Him at all.
As truth comes, so do questions.
What do I do with them all?
I wish I could write them down all on little pieces of paper—multicolored paper.
Green for difficult ones,
Like what does it mean to really be in love?
Or Who am I supposed to be?
Purple for the questions called: why?
Like, Why can’t humans fly?
Or Why isn’t my dad here with me?
Ocean blue for all the questions seeking to figure out exactly who God is…
Does He cry?
What did He do before He created the universe?
What does His hair smell like?
Will He ever stop forgiving me?
After writing all my questions down,
I’d crumple them all up,
And stick them in a bright red balloon,
Fill it with helium and let go.
After my questions have all been released,
I’d walk barefoot along the beach…
Or maybe go get some ice-cream.

My Lover is Insane

I was once told that normal was only a setting on a washing machine,
And as You called my phone today,
Your foolish words moving from my ear into my heart,
I was convinced this statement true.
An ambassador of Yours explain that one of Your children some 3000 miles away needed a hug
And I, a jar of clay, was to do the task.
How do I tell my mother, my Lover’s gone insane?
The world will write me off as a Looney,
Laughing at my reckless devotion.
As I’ve said before—our love makes no sense.
Yet I am unhinged in Your very presence.
I am captured by the smell of Your breath.
I take off the scarf wrapped up around my neck,
Throwing caution to the wind.
I let down my hair and run into Your arms,
Full speed ahead.
Like a gentleman, You ask:
“May I have this dance?”
And trusting You with my very soul,
I take Your hand,
Close my eyes,
And You lift me off the ground.