Grace between Cigarettes and Broken Hands (Poem)

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 you have somewhere to be?”
I shove the empty beer cans and cigarette butts under my seat
He shakes his head, “No place I’d rather be.”
He heard my sorry excuse for a prayer
And passed me a cup of peace
I held it in my hands
Dry, clumsy, and full of need
Like it was something holy
It was
He is.

How to Carry Grief - A Step by Step Analysis - (Poem)

1. Get the phone call
2. Before you even pick up the phone, immediately dissociate
3. Answer the call, hear the shaky echo of your voice
4. Get the news that someone you once loved is gone
5. The call will last approximately 20 seconds
6. They will hang up, not you
7. Do not cry
8. Feel an anger welling in your chest; it feels uncomfortable
9. Continue your day normally
10. Do your laundry and get an assignment done
11. Treat yourself to a “little treat”
12. Get in your car and drive to your favorite coffee shop
13. Play worship music combined with heartbreak
14. Tear up but do not break
15. Get back from coffee and feel a little better
16. Someone asks how you are… (EMERGENCY) (BREAKING) (DO NOT CRY)
17. Stutter out an “I’m fine,” do not let them know you are hurting
18. Write a poem that doesn’t equivalent to the amount of love you had
19. Continue to work hard and push through the evening
20. Get home from work and see flowers, realize that someone might care
21. Never mind, they were for someone else
22. Go buy yourself flowers and chips
23. Prune the flowers gently, do not cut yourself on the thorns
24. Eat all the chips
25. Go to movie night with friends, act okay
26. Leave thirty minutes into the movie, tell no one
27. Go straight to bed, do not sit in silence and wonder where they went
28. Wake up and act normal
29. Your voice will break a few times, that’s okay, but do not cry
30. Go to classes like normal, then to lunch
31. Cry at lunch, no one will judge you
32. Go to work and act like everything is fine
33. Get home, go to another movie night, and then to a party
34. Get home from it and cry… A lot… silently
35. Pass out from dehydration and exhaustion
36. Wake up someday and realize that the love you once had is not past tense. It is still there… That is why it hurts. And that’s okay

My Fair Lady (Poem)

The London Bridge never fell, but I did
Collapsing under the weight of too many trauma-filled buses and cars that use caffeine for gas
Being raised in a house with no structure made me unsteady
I never knew how to react when my infrastructure was cracking at the seams
When workers with rough hands would try to mend the pieces that were falling away
When the workers took a torch to my deepest parts and set me aflame
When the workers would notice that my heart was like a sea, changing with the winds
I threw them into the waters below, most of them knew how to swim
I looked into the mirror and found that I was beautiful
I had pillars of stone swirled with glass that held me strong
Everyone told me that if I cover up my flaws with makeup on top, people might stick around
So that’s what I did, I created beauty with balconies of grief and lights of hope
No one noticed that the very plates on which I stood were escaping from beneath me
My cracked foundation was killing me from the moment I knew how to stand
Enough weight on my back causes me to shake
The rocks that I try to make my main supports give way
I crumbled into myself, drowning in the waters below
I hope the next time someone builds me up, they know how many buses I can handle
I hope they forgo the balconies filled with grief, but keep the lights of hope
I hope the workers don’t tremble when they hear I’m in need of maintenance
I hope they give me a strong enough foundation, so that the wind doesn’t cause me to tremble
I hope they love me enough to stick around anyway

I know love (Poem)

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 his opinions because “he just doesn’t feel that strongly about it.”
I know love makes promises he can’t keep
I know love hates himself for that
I know love drives a 2004 Honda Odyssey, he should get rid of it
I know love doesn’t succeed at a lot of things, but she tries
I know love convinces me that I am enough
I know love writes handwritten notes, so people think she's more sincere
I know love has kept every note he’s ever been given
I know love hates shorts cause she feels uncomfortable in her own skin
I know love smokes weed when he feels like he isn’t lovable
I know love tears herself apart looking for the piece he left behind
I know love drinks sweet tea and eats mints like he’s never brushed his teeth before
I know love sticks around, even when he swears he’s gotta go
I know love doesn’t always feel brand new
I know love isn’t a fairytale, but maybe love is me, maybe love is you

War Victim (Poem)

I wake each day with hands not mine, still hoping they can hold something gentle
I have a name that's ingrained in my brain… it hurts to think of
I pray for the day that I can wake up and remember who I was before
I wake up and hope that someday I’ll be able to distinguish their screams from mine
I ache in a set of skin I don’t call my own, it feels like someone else's
I see metal, where your mercy once lied
I see myself in the ghosts that once lingered here
I was beaten and broken, and made to follow orders
This schedule they wrote on my heart wakes me up every day at 0500
The ghost I fear, the one who wakes me up in the middle of the night, is me
I keep choosing you, despite the orders I was given
Loving you goes against the blood in my veins
Most nights the stars look like the dreams I used to have, far away and outta reach
Other nights, they look like crosshairs that used to tie our lives together
They look like crosshairs that tried to kill me
I was promised peace, but it looks a lot like a cage
They gave me a new body, one I didn’t want
They called me a weapon, like the choices I made were mine
They rewired my brain, made me unmade
It was them! They forced my hand
Blackmail, Brainwash, and Manipulation
I swallow it all down like a little pill
I keep hanging on to a name… it sounds a lot like hope… I forget it a lot
I think my quiet needs are too loud to be loved
Tell me, do war prisoners ever get to feel normal?
Do I ever feel not haunted?
Will I make it out?

Love without Shattering (Poem)

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 I had to choose
I don’t care if you split me apart
You are the only one who can soften this black heart
How do you love someone without shattering?
You were the kite that gave a glimpse of the world
I loosened my grip, my fist uncurled
You were the skyscraper that gave me the best sunset
With you around, I couldn’t have any regret
You were the thunderstorm that cooled me down
You and your dumb smile became my hometown
How do you love someone without shattering?
Well, I still haven’t perfected it
Most days end up with me wanting to quit
So my answer to your question is you don’t, you run at it full speed
Because someday you’ll meet someone with hands ready to bleed

I hope this isn't true (Poem)

Every good left in me points to you
I promise to carry you in every action I do
I don’t care about the sins you think you carry
You were always mine to bury
I see you in the leftover grey from power-washed concrete
I see you in every dirty cigarette-smoke-scented backseat
You bought it secondhand
A metallic taste like a wedding band
Loving you was every war I have ever won
It was like staring down the barrel of a shotgun
I think when I grow empty and sad
I’ll think of you and scribble the thought down on a notepad
Sometimes when I think of you, I can feel it underneath my ribs
It reminds me of when you looked at her, you whispered it “dibs”
I felt my hollow chest heart get crushed
Your grabby hands going towards her, it was all rushed
I think I was jealous, or at least a part of me
I wanted you like you were a ship and I was the black sea
I knew it was wrong, but at least you would want me, not just my spare time
So I’ll swallow down this hard truth, like a soda and lime
You’ll always age like fine wine
But you will never be mine

Bus Driver (Poem)

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”

Abandonment Issues (Poem)

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 

is this how goodbye works? (Poem)

You said “till the end of the line.” 

Was that your’s or was it mine? 

You always knew how to leave clean

I am just the mess you left behind

When the war is all picked up, and the camps are moved

I’m what the hero leaves behind, broken and bruised 

Now that you are gone, I’m stuck in this empty house 

I am teaching myself to breathe in the silence you left behind

You made me believe I was more

Then the dog tags that are the hand around my neck

And the versions of me I left behind

When I saw you on our living room couch

With a journal in your hands, I thought it was healing

Was I just a story to close? 

Or a story that got too heavy, a thorn in your perfect rose?  

It was just your farewell address hidden in bittersweet goodbyes

It was the script where the main character dies

You looked at me before walking away 

Did grief never cross your mind? 

Was I something you used to fill up your spare time? 

You see, the people who are supposed to love me leave right on their cue 

First, it was a woman whose face was more of a shadow

A father who didn’t know how to hold a daughter who bled too much

And now you

The one who bled to stand up for those who couldn’t stand

And with bloodied knuckles, you reached for my hand

You believed in me… and Goodness that burns

You were the home that to, I could never return  

I wish you had told me that love like that doesn’t stay

You were always meant to up and walk away

I try not to let my heart fill with hurt and anguish when I think of you 

Because that’s not what love will always do 

Love doesn’t echo or vanish; it stays true

It sticks around like it has something to prove

You said “till the end of the line.” 

You never said that line ended with you

No me without you (Poem)

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

A Healing Grief (Poem)

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 holding
I’m so glad you finally answer when I call

Abuse

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, a Definition

 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

Clay

 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 [Ctrl + C] then [Ctrl +V] (Poem)

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 the flower,
When the petals seemed like too much for the stem
When He knew that the seed of that very flower would look like a sun-dried tomato 
He thought, “Ally will see My hand in this.” 
Why do you think He got lazy with you? 
Why do you think you are just a copy and paste of past family members? 
Why do you think you are crafted from recycled product? 
“Yeah, I have my dad’s nose but my mom’s eyes” 
God knows the curve of your nose; He crafted it from clay 
God knows the scars that litter your knees from late nights
God knows the scars that cover your thighs and unguarded heart 
God knows the way your heart stutters when you hear their name
God knows the load you carry
God knows the load of laundry you forgot
God knows the load you picked up when you were 12 and never had the gust to put down
He didn’t get lazy, nor did He forget 
He is not a deadbeat dad who puts the TV on and gets lost staring at a screen
He sees you enter the house, muddy shoes and wide-smiled
He chases you to the bathtub
He washes you clean

Remembering myself before you (poem)

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” 
just to feel the warmth of your voice
As it wraps around my name like it means something to you 
Do you think it a sin that when I think of love, I think of pain? 
I feel like you can’t have one without the other
I used to think that love was for clean people
people who hadn’t been rewired and remade
and turned into heartbreak like me and you 
But for now…
I say my name aloud when no one’s listening
Ally Marie Dawn Stewart II
I say it slowly with beads clutched tight to my chest 
Like a prayer.
Like a girl trying to forgive herself
before God ever does

It was 9:00 AM at a coffee shop (Poem)

 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 

Coffee Shop with God (Poem)

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 
“Do they know I sit across from the One who made the world?” 
“Do they know I sit across from the One who called me loved?” 
I wonder if they knew 
He looked at all the other people, a small smile on His face
I think the love that flows through Him is just that evident 
He watches a single mother with two kids sit next to us
He smiles at them too
I look up from my computer
I take out the earbuds
I’m ready to go back to life
I’m feeling rejuvenated and rested 
God and I went to a coffee shop

Princess (Poem)

 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 serpent disappears like it was never even there
He picks me up and holds me close 
He dusts off my skinned knees and places the tiara back on my head 
“Be still, my little warrior” 
“Be still, my Princess” 

This isn't about feet (Poem)

 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