Poetry and Prose

Jesus Christ was friends with addicts And Jesus Christ was friends with whores So it makes sense that Jesus Christ is friends with me My momma did meth and whored herself out for such and my dad drank himself silly I crave things I’ve never touched I’ve dreamed of taking adderall when it’s never passed my lips I crave a cigarette between my teeth every time someone dies I sigh out a man’s name and mistake it for love Jesus Christ didn’t bat an eye at my daddy's broken teeth Or my momma's trembling hands He didn’t mind my grandaddies' broken knuckles from drunken tussles Or my grandmother’s brokenhearted codependent tendencies He didn’t shatter at the thought of holding me close He carried all of it up to that cross at Calvary How I carry meanness when grief settles on my shoulders He carried it like a drunk grips the bottle Like a whore carries her name and head Jesus Christ makes himself at home in my heart Kicks his feet up on the old milk crate of regret I ask, “Don’t y...

I don’t think love exists I mean, well, at least the fairytale kind I know love loves purple wispy clouds I know love doesn’t own a vase, so she puts flowers in a pitcher I know love doesn’t feel like butterflies I know love hurts when I do I know love has soft eyes and callused hands I know love hates the scent of bleach, but cleans so much, it lingers on her skin I know love could drink 1000 strawberry banana smoothies I know love eats potatoes for every meal and OJ every morning (not necessarily in that order) I know love hates blueberries unless they are baked into something I know love likes the color blue, but her favorite is green I know love doesn’t let herself feel as much as it should I know love doesn’t like the color green because it reminds her of love that she’s lost I know love makes time every night at 7:43 to go watch the sunset I know love can’t stomach the thought of someone staying I know love convinced himself that everyone is gonna leave I know love doesn’t voice ...

How do you love someone without shattering? To be honest, that’s an art I haven’t quite perfected Open, bleeding, and unprotected I was always told that to be loved and love was to be changed I always kept you away and out of range I was a mirror that ended face down, and my face cracked You still called me a piece of art, you giggled, “abstract.” They never told me how much it would hurt Like the last time I put on your old ratty t-shirt You weren’t afraid of the ghost of myself that I became Nor the silence that broke me in between my silent screams How do you love someone without shattering? Every stab of you breaks the armor of thick skin I built to survive I was a glass soldier, I don’t think I was made to thrive Someday, I’ll be able to look at you like a soldier worthy of being forgiven There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t have given If you ever grew angry, stabbed me in all your rage I’d drag myself closer on the blade Slow, steady, and gunmetal blues You were always my choice when ...

Sometimes, I feel like a bus driver I picked up grief a year ago I am passing all these exits And He won’t fricking get off I think he may have fallen asleep Got comfortable and decided to stick around He keeps hogging all the seats Other passengers are getting pissed off Every night, when the bus closes down It’s the same old story I ask him to get off the bus, and he insists he has nowhere to go I invite him into my home Instead of sleeping on my couch He slithers into my bed when I am already sleeping I wake up covered in tears and wondering where he went I wake the next morning, I no longer feel rested I take my position back on the bus, and he makes himself comfortable again I look at God and hiss out “Where am I supposed to put him?” Most days, I feel like I don’t get much of a response On the days he does respond It’s soft and loving He replies, “At my feet”

I often jump at loud noises Bangs that go off in crowded spaces A man yelling… he says it’s joy… I know that look A teacher was talking to me after class  “We need to talk…”  When the ice machine at work works  Men who scream because they won’t hit a woman  When a friend comes up, too excited and too loud When the boyfriend finds out you have a male friend When hatred is spewed, before love is whispered When I forget to turn off my car radio from the night before Women who use motherly love as a weapon I often jump at soft touches Fixing the tag on my shirt A subtle hand on the small of my back A caress of my jaw A whisper in my ear  A hug that means something A gliding hand over my arm  A kiss on my shoulder  A thumb on my knuckles  I confuse thunder and softness No wonder I duck and cover at anger  I close the door when it’s love 

When you left, you left pieces of torn paper everywhere  Pieces of yourself scatter around the room I picked up every piece The pieces that were thrown on the floor and the ones in the AC unit The ones that were scattered on the bed like rose petals, and the ones soaked in blood  I tried to paper mache you back together Like, that could undo the damage that we did  In this paper mache heart, I look for pieces of me In the pieces of you, I’m still searching for me Of who we were  I’ve realized something terrifying  I don’t know how to be me without you  I’m so scared I’ll break something within me that can’t be fixed  Now that you’re gone

Everything good had a whisper of your name carved into it But the world keeps on spinning, and I keep pretending I’m a part of it Grief is just love that doesn’t know where to go So I’ll keep sending it to you until you come home Or until you don’t have to But within me, there is something It remembers the color of your voice  I’ve always found you, a maroon  But I’ll be cliché and say that it’s green A sage green that people put in their weddings  A green that people have in their homes  I used hate the way you said “home” like that could somehow include me You knock on my door I move slowly, like a cheetah stalking its prey That if  I run to the door like my legs pray I do  You’ll disappear again, just like you always do  I open the door, and you slink inside I hold out my hand It’s not to grab It’s not to reach But rather an offering, a plea You lean into me like gravity has given you permission to fall  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was h...

My hands, you know these hands; They’ve cradled your jaw, pressed you close to me. They’ve bruised the same spot; I’m so sorry you had to see me like that. The hands that now itch to hold you once made you bruise and bleed.

  Grief is just remembering where love once was. I see you in the way that the world taught me that love was too soft for callused hands like mine. I see you in the way that when my asthma attacks, it feels like a hand around my throat. Grief is just remembering that the love is still there even though the place of affection is gone

  I always thought the analogy in the Bible where we were clay was weird; I found it odd that I could be molded and formed into something beautiful. I wonder what the creator thinks when I attempt to fold in on myself. Every sin and hurt causes a cascade within me. I cave in on myself, attempting to shut the hole that fills me

God doesn’t copy and paste  He isn’t like us because he doesn’t want just to replicate or replace  He wants to create, and so he does If life was a canvas, there is no such thing as a default tree he makes  He gives every tree a different DNA code; He sprouts them in different ways  The leaves and fruit that come of it are in different spots and different shapes  He doesn’t make every birch and oak and spruce the same  But even more so, he differentiates:  Spruce from spruce  Birch from Birch Oak from Oak  In the same way that snowflakes are always different A beautiful lace that is wrapped in frost  Every intricate part of their heart different  All you have to do is look outside Look at the trees and blades of grass Dandelions you blow on to make a wish out of  Rivers that aren’t just dug into the ground but curve with the land When God created the lily of the valley flower, He thought of me! When He handcrafted the droop of ...

If you’re reading this, I’ve already become something, you just…remember. The city stinks like dog food and rain, like exhaust and coffee grounds and the sound of fathers leaving And mother’s too tired to fight.  There’s a boy Who keeps bleeding into my thoughts I use the word bleeding on purpose because, like bleeding, it hurts His face is made like a sunset His name was crafted in hard work and dedication  (Redacted) .   (why does that name make my teeth ache?) And I think— Was I ever a person? Or just a shadow with a pulse? Did my breathing catch you off guard?  You keep looking at me Like you expect me to shatter  Will I ever be able to touch something fragile again?  Will I ever be able to hold on to you?  I was born with fists shut tight  Always looked ready to hit something  I think it’s cause I’ve been dying for something to hold  I would claw through mud and blood and ice thick as regret from all the unsaid “I love you's” ...

  A tall girl with white and green Reeboks  A scraggly man with a kind smile  A girl with a fake tan, fake blond hair, and an even faker smile A man with dread locks and incredible style  A woman with blue hair and a cherry bag A couple on their first date  A broke high school aged boy  A woman who smells like cigarettes  A man who looks like he’s been hiking all his life  A girl with a sea foam bag and a teal shirt  A man who looks uncomfortable in his own skin  A grandma with her great-grand babies  A father, who sits alone A girl who looks like bee-hives, honey and a stinger A fake cowboy with a big white beard  A couple on their 234th date (They’ve been married 27 years)  A doctor, running on two hours of sleep  A barista who's on their last legs  A man who likes “warm vanilla sugar”  A girl who smiles like sunshine  A three-year-old boy in a Spiderman costume  A girl who is not over her ex...

I went to a coffee shop with a man He looked Jewish and had a nice smile  A brown beard and His eyes squinted when He smiled  He ordered a cup of drip with cream, honey, and a dash of cinnamon  I order a matcha with oat milk and honey  I don’t think He minded that I got a drink that is flavored liked grass He let me have the booth seat and took the chair across from me He let me watch the world around us  He watched me as I got out my laptop to write this poem He watched me pull out my airpods and plug both of my ears  He watched me fiddle through sermons  He watched me settle on instrumental worship music  I sip my matcha, and He sips His coffee  I write a poem about being a princess I write a poem about being a warrior  He has me reach out to my grandparents They say they are proud of the woman I have become It is only through the man sitting across from me, through His grace and His love  I watch the people around me and wonder...

  I grew up being called a princess  I was promised to the Prince of Peace before I ever opened my eyes My Father was a King enthroned forever and lifted high  I didn’t like being a princess I preferred skinned knees over princess tiaras  I'd take mud over tea parties any day  I was a warrior  I had to be strong I was a little girl, full of hurt, and ready for war I took all the hurt I had for the world and turned it inward The scars on my thighs were the lashes upon His skin I had fresh wounds from the fight I didn’t care as I stood back up  I had to be strong I didn’t cry out in pain until I was alone I was so sure I had to slay the “enormous red dragon”  That it was my battle to fight and my struggle to win I hurled my body at this serpent  Sword and shield sent to the damned  It was this beast against me, this night  With a flick of its tail, I said a prayer  I promise I put up a hell of a fight.  He walks in, and the ...

  I carry grief with me like a ball and chain  I just keep dragging it along I’ve been a prisoner of war for as long as I can remember It hits at random times, when I realize my ankle has been rubbed raw It’s exhausting to cry at 7:40 in the morning  Or at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon Some days are better than others  I’m able to go to school, and work and play Euchre with friends I’m able to write 8-page papers and drive to coffee shops  I don’t feel the weight that is tying me down I don’t feel the skin around my ankle that has been cut because I keep forcing it along I think if I keep going, the chain will hit my bone If I keep pushing through and don’t let myself break It’ll go right through, and I’ll finally be free I’ll lose a part of me and become an amputee But my foot kept me stable, and it held me up  I should have just let it heal instead of cauterizing the wound

Oh weary traveler  My dearest friend Set your grief down at the door You don’t have to burden this anymore When you think of love, do you think of pain?  Tell me, do you think they bleed the same? Even if you do, carry it inside with you If it clings to your heart and veins Set it all down; you have nothing to prove And it weighs down your feet to where you can’t move I’ll set down my coffee mug full of excuses  And the blanket that is soaked in regret My grief left in the corner, waiting to strike again I’ll meet you in the doorway with a small smile on my face A softness in my eyes Just know my hands will be empty  My hands ready to hold  I’ll share some of this pain with you So that you don’t have to be alone I promise you don't have to be alone

I can feel my blood thrumbing in my head  I can feel the cut above my brow  I can feel the energy in my fingertips, as they shake as I write I can feel the angst in my feet, itching me closer to you I can feel the twitch in my eye; I think they are waiting for you to bolt I can feel my lungs relax and contract with every breath I can feel your name tracing every single vein Each line travels you back to my heart, right where you belong (Redacted) The name I whispered between punches and prayers and promises I couldn’t keep Every whisper of your name  A reminder of how you’ll never be mine A reminder that I crave you I can feel my stomach twist in my ribcage; it tightens around nothing I can feel the looseness of my pants; my belt is tighter I think I am starving

  I woke up this morning, and it was raining  You always found me looking up at the sky, eyes closed, thankful for grace You always loved my love for rain It didn’t matter if it was a sprinkle or a storm Every drop that soaked my mahogany brown hair  Cold water soaked into my warm skin I think you found yourself in the rain That I could love things that fell and shattered with cracks of thunder  That I could love things that stuck the earth with its lightning  That I could love things that I tried to absorb The water runs down my face, over the parts of me you’ve never seen I think you hated that rain could become a part of me I think you were jealous of the rain You always craved living in my skin, an intimacy  I think you found yourself in the rain Always falling too fast and too hard for anyone's liking  Well, except for me And you were just like the rain Stopping at my doorstep Making yourself at home all day, or at least a little while Before trav...

  I’ve died, and my lifeless body lies where I once was  All my extraments scattered around the room; I never was much of a looker, was I?  The piss soaked sheets and blood splattered walls The grief-filled pillow and love-filled jar on the top shelf that remains virgin The only part of me that has never been used My bruised knuckles from fighting death off; I lost My tears stay in my eyes for the first time I’m cold to the touch  They say it was an accident  They say they don’t know what happened They use my bruised knuckles as evidence   They cry out, “Don’t let them in the room!”  “You can’t go in there.”  “Please! You’ll ruin everything!” They know your power  You stumble into the pit Your delight’s has faded out Your treasure scattered around the room Not a sound escapes your lips You see where I still lay  Scream, wail, do anything, my spirit begs  I want to go home Home is with you Your voice breaks  A whisper of my...