Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
stairwells and playgrounds
Do you know what I did today?
I tore apart my novel.
The words I spent three years pruning and holding and chewing.. Gone. Deleted from my hard drive, burned up in the 23rd floor stairwell. I feel vindicated and sick. Killing a story is mostly tearing pieces from yourself. I don't even know why I did it. I was flipping through it and suddenly decided I hated it, hated whatever it made me feel. It made me feel him again. And I spat it from my mouth.
And I killed something in me, but maybe it's more like I burned it so that something else, something better can grow. Or maybe I'm all confused in my head again.
Noah and I talked tonight and I swear, if we empathized anymore with each other we'd be crawling around in the same skull. Playground mindsets, we think we're the last ones picked, the ones forgotten, the tag along.. and we hate it. So we isolate ourselves, run five feet away from the mob in hopes that someone will notice and call after. Then six feet, seven, eight, until we've run to where no one can find us. And our pride holds us back from returning. So we get cold and lonely and miserable and vindictive and bitter... because we hate being needy and we hate to show our weaknesses. I'm expecting you to reject me, and so I do it for you. Forget casting the first stones at me, I'll heap them on my head. And somehow it's all in my inability to receive Your love, and to claim the victory you died for. And to forgive. Why is it so fucking hard to forgive? Beat me up, steal my things, spit in my face.. forgiven as easily as I butter my toast. But reject me? Forget me? Choose someone else over me?And I'm crushed, broken, and bitter.
Haha, twenty years of introspective shit spewed out. Knowing yourself leads to some sort of enlightenment right?
No, it did. I know this- that^ is not who I am. That's what I let myself do, and feel, and think. But that is not who I am. I am the first chosen, the beloved daughter of the king of playground. He picked me. He wants me on his team, in fact he's fought and hurt and bled and cried and screamed and ached and prayed and died for me to be with him. So, again to you, Liar of all lies. I'm wanted, I'm worthwhile. And you are damned. Also, pride be damned.
I need a smoke.
I tore apart my novel.
The words I spent three years pruning and holding and chewing.. Gone. Deleted from my hard drive, burned up in the 23rd floor stairwell. I feel vindicated and sick. Killing a story is mostly tearing pieces from yourself. I don't even know why I did it. I was flipping through it and suddenly decided I hated it, hated whatever it made me feel. It made me feel him again. And I spat it from my mouth.
And I killed something in me, but maybe it's more like I burned it so that something else, something better can grow. Or maybe I'm all confused in my head again.
Noah and I talked tonight and I swear, if we empathized anymore with each other we'd be crawling around in the same skull. Playground mindsets, we think we're the last ones picked, the ones forgotten, the tag along.. and we hate it. So we isolate ourselves, run five feet away from the mob in hopes that someone will notice and call after. Then six feet, seven, eight, until we've run to where no one can find us. And our pride holds us back from returning. So we get cold and lonely and miserable and vindictive and bitter... because we hate being needy and we hate to show our weaknesses. I'm expecting you to reject me, and so I do it for you. Forget casting the first stones at me, I'll heap them on my head. And somehow it's all in my inability to receive Your love, and to claim the victory you died for. And to forgive. Why is it so fucking hard to forgive? Beat me up, steal my things, spit in my face.. forgiven as easily as I butter my toast. But reject me? Forget me? Choose someone else over me?And I'm crushed, broken, and bitter.
Haha, twenty years of introspective shit spewed out. Knowing yourself leads to some sort of enlightenment right?
No, it did. I know this- that^ is not who I am. That's what I let myself do, and feel, and think. But that is not who I am. I am the first chosen, the beloved daughter of the king of playground. He picked me. He wants me on his team, in fact he's fought and hurt and bled and cried and screamed and ached and prayed and died for me to be with him. So, again to you, Liar of all lies. I'm wanted, I'm worthwhile. And you are damned. Also, pride be damned.
I need a smoke.
We are all lepers here
Today may be sweeter. I am trying to breath.
Everything hurts and my head is spinning. A good friend left today. I will miss her.
All I have is rags, how do I honor a king? You love me? You want me? How can you want what is not pleasing. I am not pleasing.
The city is holding sunshine today. I've been awake since early morning. Something's growing, burning, pushing against my sides. It's not letting me rest. El Hashem, what are you doing? Hakkadosh, what have you in store?
I'm alive.
COME NOW ENJOY THE FEAST. From the greatest to the least.
Right here in the belly of the beast.
Everything hurts and my head is spinning. A good friend left today. I will miss her.
All I have is rags, how do I honor a king? You love me? You want me? How can you want what is not pleasing. I am not pleasing.
The city is holding sunshine today. I've been awake since early morning. Something's growing, burning, pushing against my sides. It's not letting me rest. El Hashem, what are you doing? Hakkadosh, what have you in store?
I'm alive.
COME NOW ENJOY THE FEAST. From the greatest to the least.
Right here in the belly of the beast.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
the crooked knife
I feel sick, and dirty, and broken, and dying, hurting, and tired, and beaten, and used.
There is a reason I've lived the way I have for 19 years, and changing that up brings no good. I just want to curl up in a ball in my bed and not come out for days. Just sleep and sleep and sleep and forget that I have work to be done and forget that I have people to care about and forget that I have to keep moving.
Ripped and wretched,
the dog returns to its vomit
and pigs delight in their shit
and I have rubbed my nose
in the refuse of my apathy
stumbling to hold onto something
that doesn't falter or reek
i have spit in your love
smeared your named across my bare and vulgar body
and kicked and swung and flung myself
in anger to get away from you.
and you washed away the spit
and gently cleaned the nakedness
and held me so tight to your breast
i could not get away, i could not run away
But I'm not convinced, because even if I can't see it anymore, I still smell the shit.
There is a reason I've lived the way I have for 19 years, and changing that up brings no good. I just want to curl up in a ball in my bed and not come out for days. Just sleep and sleep and sleep and forget that I have work to be done and forget that I have people to care about and forget that I have to keep moving.
Ripped and wretched,
the dog returns to its vomit
and pigs delight in their shit
and I have rubbed my nose
in the refuse of my apathy
stumbling to hold onto something
that doesn't falter or reek
i have spit in your love
smeared your named across my bare and vulgar body
and kicked and swung and flung myself
in anger to get away from you.
and you washed away the spit
and gently cleaned the nakedness
and held me so tight to your breast
i could not get away, i could not run away
But I'm not convinced, because even if I can't see it anymore, I still smell the shit.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
turkish gold
It's awake in me. It is! It is!
Something that has lain dormant for two years now. Something that makes everything more. Makes life alive, richer, satiated. It's terrifying. And it snuck up on me.
But one day I looked on him, and something in me snapped. And I smiled the first of many uncontrollable smiles. It's not love, it's only in its beginnings. And with him, it may never grow, but at least I know I'm alive. At least I know I can feel again.
Something that has lain dormant for two years now. Something that makes everything more. Makes life alive, richer, satiated. It's terrifying. And it snuck up on me.
But one day I looked on him, and something in me snapped. And I smiled the first of many uncontrollable smiles. It's not love, it's only in its beginnings. And with him, it may never grow, but at least I know I'm alive. At least I know I can feel again.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
camel filter wides
Let's be honest, I'm not coming back. Real life has finally caught wind of my neverland and it's biting at my heels.
It was a sick realization, when I realized I would not be returning to Auburn. Not for more than a passing wind, that is.
If love is patient and kind, if it does envy or boast, if it isn't proud or rude, if it isn't self-seeking or easily angered, if it keeps no record of wrongs and always rejoices with the truth, if it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres... what love have I?
Because I'm tired of waiting for you to show you care and how many words have I regretted leaving my mouth? I'm terribly jealous of her and I know I've tried to impress you into loving me. I'm always asking for love and getting angry when it's not given. I can tell you every time you hurt me and I've lied to your face. I've protected my own heart instead of holding yours, I've withheld my heart when you asked for it and doubted your intentions, I've cast out all hope you'd return, and I have crumbled.
But I know this. Love never fails. It is all I have for you, all of you, some of you, each of you.
I'm waiting for the perfect love that will drive out this fear of imperfection.
Something reckless within me is stirring, and it's a far cry from the calm before the storm.
Shit, God. Today hurt.
It was a sick realization, when I realized I would not be returning to Auburn. Not for more than a passing wind, that is.
If love is patient and kind, if it does envy or boast, if it isn't proud or rude, if it isn't self-seeking or easily angered, if it keeps no record of wrongs and always rejoices with the truth, if it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres... what love have I?
Because I'm tired of waiting for you to show you care and how many words have I regretted leaving my mouth? I'm terribly jealous of her and I know I've tried to impress you into loving me. I'm always asking for love and getting angry when it's not given. I can tell you every time you hurt me and I've lied to your face. I've protected my own heart instead of holding yours, I've withheld my heart when you asked for it and doubted your intentions, I've cast out all hope you'd return, and I have crumbled.
But I know this. Love never fails. It is all I have for you, all of you, some of you, each of you.
I'm waiting for the perfect love that will drive out this fear of imperfection.
Something reckless within me is stirring, and it's a far cry from the calm before the storm.
Shit, God. Today hurt.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
American Spirits
This time it's 4:05 AM when I begin.
All my roommates are gone for the week. This is the first time my apartment has ever been so empty. It's strange, but I'm growing rather fond of it. I smoked a cigarette in here, because I can and there's no one to complain about it. Pretty pointless, but it entertained me for a few minutes. Now I'm trying to clean, trying to sort my thoughts out.
Headed to Boston Monday morning. We've got no place to stay so we're just going to hit up the Dropkick Murphy's show and then pull an all nighter in the city. Come home sometime the next day. I figure it'll be entertaining enough.
I've got Say Anything on and I'm attempting to clean the apt. Obviously, I'm sitting here writing about it instead. I'm just anxious tonight. I have been all day. Tonight is not a night I want to be alone, and I miss the times I'd be spending nights with good friends. Right well, cleaning. I'm going to get on that.
One attempt at legitimate content: I've been reading lots and lots of Rumi poetry lately. I'm rather a fan. Also rereading Catcher in the Rye for the umpteenth time.
I met a man named Gypsy George who looks exactly like Rocco from Boondock Saints. Uncanny.
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.
-Rumi.
All my roommates are gone for the week. This is the first time my apartment has ever been so empty. It's strange, but I'm growing rather fond of it. I smoked a cigarette in here, because I can and there's no one to complain about it. Pretty pointless, but it entertained me for a few minutes. Now I'm trying to clean, trying to sort my thoughts out.
Headed to Boston Monday morning. We've got no place to stay so we're just going to hit up the Dropkick Murphy's show and then pull an all nighter in the city. Come home sometime the next day. I figure it'll be entertaining enough.
I've got Say Anything on and I'm attempting to clean the apt. Obviously, I'm sitting here writing about it instead. I'm just anxious tonight. I have been all day. Tonight is not a night I want to be alone, and I miss the times I'd be spending nights with good friends. Right well, cleaning. I'm going to get on that.
One attempt at legitimate content: I've been reading lots and lots of Rumi poetry lately. I'm rather a fan. Also rereading Catcher in the Rye for the umpteenth time.
I met a man named Gypsy George who looks exactly like Rocco from Boondock Saints. Uncanny.
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.
-Rumi.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
laid bare.
It's one of those evenings, one of those days. The heartless ones that have ripped at me limb from limb, pulled my hair, hit the low spots, and scratched at my slowly healing scars. These are the days I am overcome with rawness, facing that fact that I FEEL more than anything. I am not numb, not apathetic, not even loosely lukewarm. My heart is seared, leaned upon, stretched, tight, torn, and wide open for every blow it takes. It's wandering, my heart. My heart.. it's pacing and gnawing and grumbling and groaning. And to what end? WHY? It wants you. I want you. And now, I will be still. I will loosen my grip on the control I obsess over. I will untie the fetters I have wound up around my desires. They are yours.
If you know me at all, you know I show my heart in the wetness of my tears. Pretty constantly. In fact, I've probably cried in your arms. I have long dealt with a vehement hate of it, this weakness, this plague. Why can't I gain composure in the midst of strangers? Why, for one moment of my life, can I not convincingly lie and tell you that I'm ok if I'm not? My face always betrays me. And why, for that matter, why do I cry every damned moment?I retract that, those moments aren't damned. In fact, all YHWH seems to tell me is that he delights in my brokenness. Well, that's great. You've got plenty of brokenness to love.
And I'm not some miserable wretch. Life is abundant, ya feel me? Probably not. I can only say my heart feels more than I can articulate. In all spectrums. Quiet intense joy, overwhelming ecstacy and delight. Wrenching pain and despair. Calm somber sorrow. And all points between.
So my heart can break hundreds of times a day. Some days it does, some days it doesn't. And today it was a wreck. The burden of this city is nearly more than I can handle. And am I beloved? Delighted in? Who are you, Creator of the Universe? Who are you, breaker of my heart and mender of my soul? WHO ARE YOU silent ear in the sky? Who are you YESHUA, holding me tightly? YESHUA, JEHOVAH, YHWH, EL ELYON, HAKKADOSH, EL HASHEM.
Do you know how many names you have? Endless. Of course you do- you are the holder of those names. All things infinite, infallible, great, Holy, Mighty, all things.. I only know that I'm enthralled by you, captured by you, wanting you. Who will listen to my many cries but you? No man can hold my brokenness like you.
Yet I long for the man that will hold my wholeness. That which will have been healed by you. I long for the image of your Love that will caress the tenderness you have given me. Who will hold firmly my hand in a dazzling commitment to absurdity and love. Who will tear through life with me, wander the ugly places with me, fight the dark closets with me, hold the wretched with me, know the wanting with me, feed the hungry, call the aimless, love the untouchable things of this world and all measures of pride and folly in between.
I sit and marvel at who you are. My heart is overwhelmed by your compassion. I am terrified and in awe of your majesty. And softened by the wealth of love you lavish upon me. What else can I do but reflect it? Yet there is a constant shadow with me, a whispering in my ear of my depravity. You have no claim to love and life and joy, it hisses. You have no right to fight for Truth you who fail to bare your honest soul before men. You have trampled His name, see!? Run from his presence, you are of no worth!
Well be damned liar. For I believed you and I tried to run and it mattered not. I cannot run from the presence of my YHWH. Though He is the HOLIES OF HOLIES I cannot lose myself to him. He has found me. He has claimed me. Worthy? In all my power I am absolutely not. But He wants me, through Christ I have been vindicated. You see me for what you created me as. You see my heart, you know my ways, you know how far I have fallen- and you love me. How dare I reject your love. How dare I turn you away. And it's 3:29 AM now and I'm quieted by you. Tears are softly falling now, my breathing has slowed. Here is where I have asked for your peace, and here you have given.
And what am I to do with this?
If you know me at all, you know I show my heart in the wetness of my tears. Pretty constantly. In fact, I've probably cried in your arms. I have long dealt with a vehement hate of it, this weakness, this plague. Why can't I gain composure in the midst of strangers? Why, for one moment of my life, can I not convincingly lie and tell you that I'm ok if I'm not? My face always betrays me. And why, for that matter, why do I cry every damned moment?I retract that, those moments aren't damned. In fact, all YHWH seems to tell me is that he delights in my brokenness. Well, that's great. You've got plenty of brokenness to love.
And I'm not some miserable wretch. Life is abundant, ya feel me? Probably not. I can only say my heart feels more than I can articulate. In all spectrums. Quiet intense joy, overwhelming ecstacy and delight. Wrenching pain and despair. Calm somber sorrow. And all points between.
So my heart can break hundreds of times a day. Some days it does, some days it doesn't. And today it was a wreck. The burden of this city is nearly more than I can handle. And am I beloved? Delighted in? Who are you, Creator of the Universe? Who are you, breaker of my heart and mender of my soul? WHO ARE YOU silent ear in the sky? Who are you YESHUA, holding me tightly? YESHUA, JEHOVAH, YHWH, EL ELYON, HAKKADOSH, EL HASHEM.
Do you know how many names you have? Endless. Of course you do- you are the holder of those names. All things infinite, infallible, great, Holy, Mighty, all things.. I only know that I'm enthralled by you, captured by you, wanting you. Who will listen to my many cries but you? No man can hold my brokenness like you.
Yet I long for the man that will hold my wholeness. That which will have been healed by you. I long for the image of your Love that will caress the tenderness you have given me. Who will hold firmly my hand in a dazzling commitment to absurdity and love. Who will tear through life with me, wander the ugly places with me, fight the dark closets with me, hold the wretched with me, know the wanting with me, feed the hungry, call the aimless, love the untouchable things of this world and all measures of pride and folly in between.
I sit and marvel at who you are. My heart is overwhelmed by your compassion. I am terrified and in awe of your majesty. And softened by the wealth of love you lavish upon me. What else can I do but reflect it? Yet there is a constant shadow with me, a whispering in my ear of my depravity. You have no claim to love and life and joy, it hisses. You have no right to fight for Truth you who fail to bare your honest soul before men. You have trampled His name, see!? Run from his presence, you are of no worth!
Well be damned liar. For I believed you and I tried to run and it mattered not. I cannot run from the presence of my YHWH. Though He is the HOLIES OF HOLIES I cannot lose myself to him. He has found me. He has claimed me. Worthy? In all my power I am absolutely not. But He wants me, through Christ I have been vindicated. You see me for what you created me as. You see my heart, you know my ways, you know how far I have fallen- and you love me. How dare I reject your love. How dare I turn you away. And it's 3:29 AM now and I'm quieted by you. Tears are softly falling now, my breathing has slowed. Here is where I have asked for your peace, and here you have given.
And what am I to do with this?
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