Tag Archives: love

Poetry: Maybe If


Romanticizing is for the birds
And I’m the air they fly through
There was so much I wanted to say, tonight,
But I was too afraid to.

Maybe if I didn’t think through it so much,
Maybe if I had gone ahead and bought the dress,
Maybe if I hadn’t been so nervous,
Maybe if you had given me some assurance.

A friend described you to me once,
And I decided I liked you instantly.
You became a place I went to in my mind
When life wouldn’t stop pushing me.

Maybe I’m overthinking this when you haven’t given me a thought,
Maybe life hasn’t yet given me lessons I need to be taught,
Maybe I’m simply not good enough or not ready yet
Maybe love is rain and you’re not ready to get wet.

I wish you would’ve held my hand,
And put to death my anixety,
You could’ve even said you weren’t interested,
I trust you not to lie to me.

Maybe we had too much in common, but not enough to talk about,
Maybe I built you up too high in my mind, left so much room to doubt,
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and realize you were just a dream,
Maybe it’ll hit me that you were never meant for me.

By the end of the cup that had been my tea,
There was no clarity on what could produce
Between you and me. But to your credit,
You couldn’t have known I needed any.

Maybe I went crazy and loved someone I’ve never met
Because I knew at least in my head, I couldn’t be hurt, yet
I never really wanted to hang out with you, and that’s the truth.
I just wanted to admire you from afar, to keep you this obtuse.

But I’m just some girl and you’re that guy in the band
With the handsome face and the holdable hands.
The worst part is, you weren’t too good to be true,
You were obviously real, just not really that into
Me.

Maybe I’m too much of this and not enough of that,
Maybe you’re too exciting or maybe I’m too fat,
Maybe in another life or on a different day,
Maybe if I had had something impressive to say…

Empty Philosophy, Useless Rhetoric


We were birthed from Strife, and Love followed us into a cycle of never-end; the coming together, the pulling apart, these are the seasons of infinity.

For if the very nature of Strife and Love, existing in every part of the Cosmos, is infinite, then is not everything created within the infinite cycle forever bound within its seasons and without the ability to be separate or destroyed?

Therefore if I stand like a volcano who gives off smoke as a signal of natural strife, am I not still subject to the season of rest, the love that must follow? For each season passes and gives balance to the precedent set before it.

 

Prose: A Random Memory


On this particular day, I was late to church for prayer or maybe I was early. I walked in and sat in a chair that faced the wall opposite from the one I entered. I noted the familiar faces. There were probably 5-10 other people already deep in prayer and meditation. I faced the wall, put my feet on top of the floor heater and slouched into a ball. I began talking to God about my day, trying really hard to emulate the way I would talk to a friend. I hadn’t really done this before. My prayers are, for the most part, very structured, reverent and formal. I had finally summed up my day and really wanted to tell God how nature had affected me that day. I wanted Him to know my gratitude, to express an awe for the majesty of creation in a manner that expressed familiarity and comfort versus separation and reverence. I kind of just started shaking my head slowly back and forth, ignorant to what was about to come out… and I spoke:

“I really love what You’ve done with the place.”

I couldn’t control the giggling until I noticed my madness affecting all the other silent conversations with God.

This, I feel, marked a very special transition in how I began to identify with the creator of the universe.

Poetry: Union by Conformity


A union by conformity,
Separateness, the tragedy,
Our heart’s an open wound,

A government or enemy,
Our collective fear,
Such distance from our brothers,
Do we start to disappear?

I’ve no need for time and space
No physics suits my soul,
Transcendental is the beauty
as the story comes unfold.

The haze removes itself
From the corners of our mind
And we remember the age-old secret
We searched so long to find

The man caught in the web of mundanity
will ultimately forget that he’s a man
And he’s but one life to live;

One chance for sorrow,
One chance for love,
One chance to forget tomorrow,
One chance to give.

Poetry: Maybe The Universe is God’s Brain, But I Want His Heart


Heartbeats like lonely fists,
Knocking on countless doors,
Searching for a vain love, or a dim light,
For we refuse to receive what our flesh abhors.

Even in our selfishness, we find rest,
But love is vitality. Without it,
We act like angry children,
Taken suddenly from the breast.

I’m sick of this world and all its attitudes,
It’ll never change, never choose the truth,
So I’ll rise away from all its platitudes,
To the God they thought lacked proof.

Short, Sweet, To The Point


I need something real
Something that’s mine with You
Something that won’t fall apart every time I do
I need something to hold on to.

Journal Entry: Hardships and Survival


I guess to say what I want to say, and really have anyone understand why I’m saying it, I have to provide some background information.

On September 2, an extremely close friend of mine told me we couldn’t talk anymore. His reasons were vague and frustrated me. He asserted that I need to be focusing on myself and this was best for me. I was more than a little devastated about it, but I got through it. Sort of.

On September 5, I returned to school for the first time in three years. On this day, I had a massive panic attack for the first forty minutes of class. I could not concentrate on what my professor was saying, and I so dearly wanted to run out.  Despite the fear running through my entire body, I stayed in my seat, fidgeting with a red face and a pair of sweaty hands. I got through it. Sort of.

On September 8, I found out a childhood friend of mine, someone who I’ve known since I was eleven, and whose family has been considered an extension of my family since I was three, was in a coma and had fractured his brain stem in an accident. I fell to pieces when I found out and as I held his hand in the ICU of Strong Hospital, praying for a miracle to no avail, a part of me died. I watched my faith fall useless on his near-lifeless body, but I kept some fashion of hope and I got through it. Sort of.

On September 9 around 11am, I was on my way out to visit Orry again in the hospital, when I was informed that he had just passed at 10:20. I sat in the garage, chain smoking, staring at the blank tv screen like a zombie. I could cry, but I couldn’t feel it, not in my heart, just in my head. I could keep a strong face, but I couldn’t feel that strength in my heart, just in my head, but I went to that church tonight, I broke down before God in the middle of song. I went home and deleted my facebook.  I got through it. Sort of.

On September 10, I went to class and lived like nothing had ever happened to me. I didn’t have any panic attacks.

On September 11, I found out my best friend’s father passed away from a stroke. He was a man who I admired, idolized even. He was close to me, made me comfortable and at peace in his presence, and always made me smile with his dry, quick wit. I freaked out. I had known he was sick with an infection in his lungs, and I had been praying for him, but it did not occur to me that he wouldn’t get better and it certainly didn’t ever cross my mind that something else would kill him. He has survived cancer. He is a strong, hard-working man who loves his family with the most obvious kind of love. My heart broke for him, for me, and for my friend, his child. I survived, sort of.

On September 12, I attended church, again. The sermon didn’t relate to me, so I thought I could keep it together, but every familiar stranger in that place that put their arms around me and embraced me in genuine compassion made me melt into a pile of grief, almost instantly. I got through it, sort of.

On September 13, I attended Orry’s funeral/memorial. I saw every single person I could’ve lived with never having seen again. I felt alone in the masses, and didn’t find comfort at the end of my booze-filled glasses. I did not feel Orry in that place, but I saw Love in every embrace.

When I left, I visited my friend whose father passed away. I had spent every moment until then, feeling like a crappy friend because I hadn’t seen him yet, hadn’t consoled him. I hugged his mom tightly when I saw her, which I’ve never done and I sat up late, giving comfort in the only ways I know how. I didn’t sleep until Saturday.

These past two weeks have been the hardest of my life, and yet, I sit here now, almost untouched by it all. The worst part of all of this was seeing so many people I loved, suffering and not  being able to do anything about it, not having any word of wisdom or encouragement for them. I was utterly useless for other people. Not to mention, it was a hollow kind of loss. The pain in your chest that keeps you up at night. I was a weeping mess when I started to map out all the dates and events, but now, I don’t know what to think. I had a few moments of clarity in the midst of all the devastation and saw that it’s all for Love. It’s all for freedom. There’s a method in the madness and a purpose for the pain. Even if the methods don’t make any sense to me and the purposes might seem too small and insignificant for such horrible effects, I trust that this is going somewhere good. I don’t believe in happy endings, but I believe that every conflict has a resolution and reaching it is only a matter of that imaginary thing we call, time.