Food Court; The American Dream

The lady with the Chanel purse
and the overripe belly
filling quickly with Mickey D's
Counterfeit, counterfeit like her purse
Most likely, most likely
Big Kids Meal? I doubt that my dear
Though you are big you are no kid
But suppose you are? Suppose I give you that?
Then the world would make the most sense
The Food Court world
of choices and choices
Ways to blow your money and your time
To spread the filth of the American Dream
Sitting snugly in your bellies
Overblown with our constitutions lies
Do you even know these words Chanel?
Subliminal messaging shoved down
Like there's a secret telegraph in the
Clanging of grease fryers, ranting pixeled TVs in HD
and questions of "only for a dollar more?"
Plastic and serene ignorance
The bliss of our lives here; Controlled by our choices
Only for a dollar more you whore!

To the Putting Out of Innocence

Drink up, drink up
To the putting out of innocence
Smolder like the eyes of
the blind whore

Rose that withers but ne'er dies
Stagnant and reeking
Reeling in the open breeze
Concave like
the breast of that whore
Ripping with past hands
of flesh coiling round
the life that once breathed inside; putting out that innocence

But no more, no more
Only sorrow and pricked wind
And chaff between
the cheap legs of that Wonder
That wander o' nights alone
searching vainly for her innocence

The Spirit Breathes

Watched as the umbrella
Blue and stripped white
Bent and dismissed
Disarmed of it's routine home
Scrapes gravel and black greased pavement
Towed over and back again
Abused by authority

Lawns spout out their normative song
A rhythmic spray like cricket legs
But notes fly further
Pivoting seed and spray

Leaves scuttle
Like mindless drones
A mad ballet orchestrated
Instantaneous and unawares

Trees bow in a submissive dance
Dipping low to a backbreaking depth
And yet and yet sustain the beat
The rhythm like a spastic sea
All spindled and spun
Our bodies breath
Sharp and startled

The Spirit breathes
and we see the storm
The beast just outside our fragile
windowpane, glass
Placid swaying shift my guts to glorify
To honor the living God who 
claims the beast
The treat of terror
Clothed in reverence
The skies move and I remember
I am small
Fed to the beast if not for grace
Grace, grace resounds
Sweeping across the terror of the night
Night green beast of forestry

Lamenting leaves
Foliage chaffed and thrown by the hands of God

Philosophy of Moths

Sitting on the porch with a gin and a smoke
I felt the wisps of breeze and soft drifts of pitter and pattering rain
Out of the corner of my eye I say a flicker of wing
Rapid and madding, monotonous and confusing
Simple
And I realized I adore the philosophy of moths
They flutter like a heart beat
And they beat and beat and beat with life
Like life they are content with the stream
the constant pitter and patter of wanting to feel alive
They never give in never stop their clinging
To walls stuccoed and crushed;crushing
they sit atop the surface with fragile wings fabriced with veins and wait to start again
They are content with this and with the pulling and tearing at fabrics in closets
They pull and pry not realizing what they are doing to others
to their dreams of nice sweaters
All those nice sweater dreams and ideas of moving to Paris and putting lonesome on the Shelf
Maybe they were ripped away by the flutter of the moth just living to beat life
In the same way they throw themselves at the flames of the world
I am not sure if they are unaware of the consequence
the ironic wit and saying they inspire by being mercilessly drawn into their demise
But I'm not sure I would mind
The philosophy of moths seems safe in a directly ironic way
They consume or are consumed
Destroy or are destroyed
Either way they live

The Tree of Life

It spurs from nothingness
Rein, rein
Poured over time
Fleshed out/Sour milk
Feeding tenderly
On the sad ballet
Tiptoed and bloody and botched
Take hold or take flight
Stain glass sprite
Shaken and splintered
Broke down doll
Darling dear, dear love of love
For love's sake
And still and still
We cry out the pained breath
At both beginning and at end
We wither, weeping willows wallowing
Bubble like corrosive flesh
Like sour milk
We are, we are

Fear; For You My Dear

Wind picks up beneath me
And carries my stronghold, hope
See it fly and die
From whence it came
Upon my aching breast its wieght
My words no sound, agape
But loss of love shall not escape
The fever of fear consumes
The dear, dear love of love
No more than fear
The vile villain of the year
For you my dear have I picked
This flower of fate
of destiny worn and sealed
Dried petal and smell remote, no more
Song or sweet soft note
Only silence and lonely fear
On the wanton wind for you my dear

Las Vegas on a Freeway

The house was unknown before we came
Before we brought it to life with our music
and pot-coughing and our orange citrus beverage
Spiked, spiked, spiked
Like our flesh as we stripped down to our pretty underwear
Still water met with cold bodies
Bodies full of smoke and laughter and orange citrus beverage
We brought it to life
We did, we did

Untitled

Too much time
alone
in my own mind
Too little time to
examine and find
Your time, so fragile
Your mind, like concrete
Thick
but no, not in a bad way
Just is, just is
I sit and I wait
For what, for what?
I don't know how to take
What to give, what to fake?
Why do I try to be, to see
I don't want to say 'don't' anymore
No more, you whore

Familiar Place

As I sit here in my familiar place
familiar but not the same
I think of the times we had
The ones where we sat laughing in the rain
Dancing and screaming with delight at the heavens
and I remember the mundane
The average and the normal
The sky breathing with us
A breeze floats by carrying
this familiar feeling
Its containment in a summer breeze
Not quiet the same as the fall but so close, so close
I remember the tears at midnight and sometimes mid day
I remember the books and the essays and the essays and the essays
That put us to sleep in lecture hours
And made us one in the smallest way
We were one for once, for God's sake we were one
And we will never be alone or gone from the familiar
It will follow us till the end of our days, till the end
When the sky is no longer breathing and the familiar is the absolute
And the joy never, never ends, there again we meet

Short Story

 Cup clicks down, smooth on the rough brick walkway. My eyes flick up(the way he'd like it) to find him giving me what looks like my morning coffee or tea.

 (whichever he's decided is best.)

 Adjust my eyes back down to peer into the porcelain. It's not so dark;must be tea. Making my eyes dance, trying to get him to say something. The first of the morning conversations.


 'You smell like smoke.'


His voice comes and my eyes become fixed far away.

 Beginning my rhetoric, consoling the evergreen opposite me. Patches spindling out of control.  A lone fiery ladybug, scavenging over the leaves, hunting for aphids. The leaves are plump with moisture, infecting it with the sky. It's cloudy like my mind and my lungs.

Reach behind my head with one arm and fumble for the flower pot full of mini cigars and butts of cheap cigarettes with white filters. In the pot my hand also finds a small tin case in one corner. The same corner it's always in.
 Lifting it from its hiding place and give it over to his waiting hand. They're pink with cold and anger,his hands.

But it's better than white.
 If they were white his fists would clenched and he would be furious.

Either way it doesn't matter he can't stay mad for too long. He puts the case into his jean jacket, and his slippers scuff against the pathway as he gets up to leave.

Clock ticks silently in my head 8 times. The time it takes for him to get through our door and close himself in behind it. Unsheathing  a white filtered cigarette from my skirt pocket, simultaneously pouring out the black tea all over the walk. It clatters down and I take a deep breathe, inhaling my already lit cigarette.

Watch the ladybug for a while.  Watch its tiny body cascade over a single leaf. Tittering along in a dull hurry.

She knows she has plenty of time.

The day is young and the sky is calm.

 Inhale again and throw the remainder of that cigarette into the its sad grave, where many before it have gone to die, their flame extinguished.

My bare feet touch the ground, grasp the brick for support, holding my familiar cup in hand.

 Turning on my heels slow and shallow,  walk to the front door. Touch the wood we installed last Christmas and turn the frigid brass knob.

 (I wanted gold)

 Remember that the day is still quite young.

My Family Tree

My Father flies kites in the backyard
higher and higher to find his Peter Pan youth
My mother listens to cheap gospel music
and keeps her break on
Jumping! to high speeds
The car reels, suspension,
tuning, off,off, off
My brother the quiet gentleman
sleepless in his dizzy dream
of video games
playing over and over
Solitude for his mind
Worlds away in L.A.
Vamp. clans and busted up cars,
fairies and experience points
And I in the middle
Laugh quietly at the
Kaos of my Family Tree

So much for San Diego

Tango! Tango!
Oscar! With a heavy Spanish accent
Romeo!Romeo! Where for art thou
tow truck man?
I didn't want the last envelope anyways! Toyota SUV!
Couldn't wait until morning, couldn't wait
Nice feather fedora man
didn't anyone ever tell you no one ever wins those games??
As you stroll away, way past your bed time
Your wife won a puppy from the grab machine
Guess you win, you win
with your stereo at midnight
Denny's; defeat
So much for San Diego

Ghetto theaters are the Best!

Kids with candy stained lips
And beer bellies from too much empty food
Reach past me to try and pickpocket
But no good and so the other gives it a go
Followed by a stern hit from a mother who holds no control
The ticket stubs are like raffle tickets
"I've won" says the "B" rated popcorn stand
Only three shows, only the best
the most wanted and the most watched
Cellphone lights to find the way
Followed by no message to turn off your electronics
But the audience is quiet save the hollow crunch of "B" rated popcorn
After the show I press against the graffiti ridden door
No shame or hope of redemption
Only a casual embrace from the movie goer
Going in and out of the small ghetto theater
Outside bikes ride by
with stereos that blast commercials in Spanish
I got a tattoo down here once,
twice, three, four times
I remember now what it is to live the ghetto life
Even just to see a movie
For six dollars instead of twelve...

Laundry

Stayed the night at a laundry mat
It was a hot day and a hot night to follow
Two tumble washes and a dry
Double duty dry was all it took
The suitcase hit the gravel hard in the parking lot
As I rode by looking like I wanted work
An SUV parked snug next to the front door
An Armenian couple sifting through coupons
Looking like mob men come to steal my clothes
But no they roll on, roll on by
Inside is gold
A quarter or two bought you
Screaming Asian words!
Japanese I think, Japanese
From the joystick to the
blue and green buttons
High kick and low punches
From the screaming arcade
I won only once
But I've got two tumble washes
and a dry to show for it

San Diego Bums

Bums line the seashore
An elegant, everwinding path
Pedestrians ride, run and
Skip past
They are lawn ornaments
Nothing more, nothing more
As they lay about, strun
Across greenery
and the breeze floats by
carrying the smoke
from the bum's bummed cigarette
And the sadness and sorrow
of the American Dream
As faded as a thousand years suns
They sit, baking on their claimed lawns
Where True Man dare not venture

Untitled

Look over you shoulder and know that I AM God
Look at the sea and sing hymns of my great work
Those who look on you know the strength in you
is nothing more than all of me
Hold on in the waves and know that my sovereign hand wields those rushing waves
of foam and salt
Scary as they may be
they show me clearly and scream 'hear me hear me if you dare'
I've called you out of the depths and given you the dare
to follow from the breath and the legs
that sprint after me because I have given them to you
use them wisely my child
wisdom not from you but from my breath
and my speech that constantly stirs you out of your battle against a sinful lazy lull
in my living word hide yourself
in it as a cleft in a rock hide yourself in me and know that I AM Lord
Hold onto that breath; that life
Hold onto what I have given you to believe
To live beyond all you have known to be life, live
Hold on and know that I AM God

Where you sit on your shore

Where you sit on your shore
The waves crashing, crashing
I wonder if you think of me
My hair, my eyes
Mad and untamed
Or if to you they are dull and faded
From distant memory where you care not to look
I wonder if you see me in that head of yours and think:
"my love;my life"
Or if that is only me
I wonder if you care for me enough to say out loud
To risk the words held by your breath alone
Right there, right there
On your tongue, never uttered,
never, never real until you've said it
To me, to me and to me alone
I wonder if you love, love, love me
Then say you love me
Write it in the sand
Scream it over the night waves
Then finally, finally
whisper it in my ear and my ear alone

When She was Young

The woman's lips are stained, lips are stained
Red from nervous blood peeling,
Dry and rusted against her
Old lips, old lips
She pulls a soft cigarette to her face
and takes a small drag
Her fingernails stained dark
For those years of viciously
inhaling, inhaling her nicotine
She laughs at her razor
worn and rusted
Like her face, her lips
She hasn't cared since she was twenty
But the moon and stars
shine on her, shine down low
With the mimic of the sad, flickering, dusty street lamp
As she sits swaddled in a blanket
cold and damp
and smiles at the time before
When she was young

WHAT IS BEAUTY?

A girl can be beautiful without being pretty
She can be quiet and content
Sometimes all it takes is a smile
Simple and broad.
It turns a girl from a sullen, even absent minded creature
Into someone one might say
'Now there, there's a girl who loves living life'
A confident girl is scary
She's mysterious when you want her to be frail
You invent reasons why she's like this
But they never amount to
Why she is the way she is
A cocky girl is terrifying
She turns even the loveliest features into dust
Until shes right with reality again
A Godly girl should be feared
Feared and treasured above all others
Because she is the only one that will last

Stolen Freeway Flowers

We drive for a while
Hopes of San Diego in our eyes, our sight
As we smoke out windows
The car begins to mimic cruelly
God twists us in his tight fingers
With Sovereignty of God water in our clutches
We swim to beat the current of the passing freeway
No cars snarling behind us, We are free
Lift the hood to find eyes of flame
Put out, Put out
And we smoke again
The bridge of the freeway shakes us like the smoke
From the car and the sticks between our fingers 
We could have been an explosion
The cars wizz by and we
Sit waiting as the city drons on
Picking at stolen freeway flowers

Boy chasing the Sun

I don’t want to be the girl who gets in the way, the girl who is along the way and not the end. I don’t care if he goes through girls left and right I just want to be the end result the one who he needs. The one he ends up with, because in the end she’s all that matters. A wife is a man’s future the one who is the goal and the one who he gives his life to. The girls before don’t matter really their just hot air, an experiment until they find “the one”. And it doesn’t matter if he picks me I don’t want to be picked, it’s not a game and if it is I forfeit and refuse to play. It’s not a temporary fix or a test run I want, I’ve had plenty of those. I just want someone who will watch the sunset of our earthly loves fade. You don’t have to watch the sun to see it set you can just watch the light fade around you. I want someone who can sit with me for the rest of my life content to watch the light fade and not someone who’s always chasing the sun afraid it will go out before he’s seen it up close. I don’t want a boy who’s fascinated with light, but a man who will just sit with me and wait for the Lord.

Not Really

I feel like I'm living in a moving car

With the windows rolled up

The days and times roll by

And I feel I'm not a part of it

No one else is in my car

I'm moving

Though I'm not driving

I want it to stop

I want to get out

Atleast roll the windows down

Stick my head out like a dog
I want a reality
That doesn't include my fiction
My made up scenarios
From behind plate glass
Everyone sees me
I see them
But I'm not with them
Not really

Parenting

Sometimes I worry about being a good parent. When I'm thinking of the "future" with my four to seven children I'm not sure that the four to seven are all smiling at me. Sure, there would be years when they might be happy and want me to be their mom. But it's those years I'm worried about. I can handle the bullshit teen years and the semi sarcastic middle school years (assuming I don't home school my kids) but the stuff in between when kids really need you to be an adult and really need to be kids. I'm scared about that. I'm afraid I won't know what to do. I know naturally, since I have never been a parent that of course until that day when I screaming and kicking and throwing curse words and punches and my adoring husband, I will never know really how much I don't know about being a parent. I'm scared not because I don't think I can do it. Every parent fakes their way through but I'm scared I won't be grown up enough, that I won't forsake my childhood ideals to let my kids grow up. I don't buy into the cute little ideals like "Gilmore Girls" where the parents grow up with the kids. I just don't think it works that way. If it were that simple they wouldn't have a show like "Teen Mom". Anyways, all I'm trying to say is said, I don't know if it makes sense but it's there. It's what I think.

Pearl Girl

Got nothing but time on our hands
Got nothing but, Got nothing but, time
Time, time, time, like a spell in his hand
The world keeps spinning, but we got nothin' but time
Time, time, time, to get in line
To make the shift, from turpentine
To kill, the spill, in our leaky minds
Cry, to see, the world, the girl before you
She's the pearl in your ear, the constant lull, and the cheer
She'll never let go, till you know, till you show
Cuz we've got nothing, nothing but time

Music

As it flows so light on my lips
Flowing to and fro
Gives me tunnel vision
Through melody and tone
Voices sing of pain I know
Joy too, there's always that
Its a mirror
A light into a world well known
When it brings me backwards or forwards
Through time and space it conquers with each sure beat

Seperate but equal lovers

Who do you think you are
Running head first into my life
not thinking of the consequences you will leave me with
the way you spent my time;down the drain;pointless
And yet the way I let you even more shocking and real
Tainted me with myself 
Who do I think I am
The girl who gets a say
The girl who knows her way
But really I'm not that head strong when the lights are gone
Snuffed like your love for me
By the casual way I said " I love you"
Not the same, not the same
Always the same stupid game replaying in my head
How could I do this
To you; myself
The way we live no longer real
A tired remnant of the past
Seeking to breath;instill in me, life again
but there is no hope now
Not for me or for you
Just an ocean and a sea of dreams seperate but equal
What does that mean for you and me

I think in bullet points

I think in bullet points
In semicolons and stanzas
There is not a rhyme to my reason
But a melody that flows like the sands of time
I think in emotion
All emotion all at once
Not really noticeable thought
to fit the circumstance
But a lonely haunted,
hollow feeling
Radiating straight through me
Not really distinguishable ends
But the means to get there
clear and simple
A thought sweeps through my head out of my hand and pen
Flowing flowing flowing
Going going going
Where I'm meant to go
Deep inside myself to find
The shallow emptiness that claims me
My pen can never move quick enough
The thoughts melt away
Leaving me with simple explainations
Leaving me with stanzas and bullet points

To keep my rampant mind

Embarassed!

Too late
it happened
you couldn't stop it
break out your
coiled smile
tight
to hide the injury
you fake it
the pain behind your face
clear
to ones who
saw
the seconds before
...you know
...when you fell...
over
you breath in slow
let out; exhale
before you regain
your tiny confidence
gone as soon as you
trip
flat on your now
red face
but you'll get over it
you always do

bobby pins

bobby pins hold my head together
like my heart to my string
dangling above my soul
fragile and content
dress sways to my bosom, body, soul
like an over due work
over session of sex and passion
only when the sky is green
like a drunk sailor, like a drunk master
nauseated with the wind of the sea
master in command of what we see, be
be what we want to be
be free, master in command of my mind
my time, looming over mine
like the life of the light above me

Kite Runner Boy

No I can't you'll break me you'll take me, you'll rape me, you'll shake me, you'll fake me
No I can't you'll kill me you'll spill me you'll will me to fly
Into the sky, sky high I'll fly not knowing when I'll fall
Crawl, claw, saw the wind pick up beneath me
And still you let me fall
Die in the sky so high
You watched it all

The Child Inside

A girl once said something like this to me:
I feel like there is this small child inside of me curled into a tight ball and my body is just a shell enabling me to pretend to be grown up...
I find that I must say I agree
inside the child never dies
truely it only wilts
society; the world forces you to "grow up"
or at the very least appear that way
even for only small moments
we shrink back to having the tiny confidence of a child
buried in self doubt
but we can fake it
we're all pretty good at that
because the world is not fit for Peter Pans
it feeds on and destroys them
the jeolous Hooks are the ones who survive
but if you don't let the child live and breathe
you will never grow up
That I believe has to be true as well

The Field

I am waiting

In the field

For you to find me

The whispers of the wind

To guide

But you will not catch me

You will not sweep me

From the ground

You will not leave me

Either

The night has come

And you stand

Above me

Gaping, at my sorrow

You do not know

Who

 I

Am

But you know

The nonsense

Of the self

Always wanting

Seething for something

Unreachable

You are not the One

I long for

But you will do

For now

You will do

It is hard to say

Why

A simple word

I listen for the answer

But it never comes

The wind roars

Through the brush

And trees

But they do not answer

They snicker

As I weep

For my loss

I want the warmth

The immense comfort

Of life

Therefore you

Will

Not

Do

I have decided

You are not

What I seek

You are

A reminder

Of what I have lost

Your warmth

Is lukewarm

Your touch

Shallow and steel

You let me loose

I will gladly go

Away from this nonsense

Away from the silence

Of waiting

Of wanting

Hoping there is

End

You are hopeless

You are also

Sweet and civil

But I will not 

You do not need me

And I surely

Do not want you

Need and want

In this field

Are the same

Need equals

Want

Want equals

Need

But you are neither

What I want

Or what I need

I am

Not want I want

I am

Not what I need

My attempts to calm

My fragile nerves

In this silence

Torture

I am not enough

But you are

No longer listening

You are not gaping

Or waiting

Or wanting

You are gone

And I am not

But still

We are not sufficient

You are not

And I am not

So, who are we?

Where are we?

The field is

Fading

And I am

Alone

Whispering to

Mocking

Winds

Period Ideal

If I could have an ideal period
I would crawl into a small hole and die slowly
The coroner will declare either:
"death by malnutrition"
because I will have been eating
only large quantities of chocolate
or a simple "she bled out"
Because that's what it feels like whenever I'm visited by that cynical, biblical
"monthly gift"

Fire

Its simple, the way one starts a fire 

shreds of one's discarded life 

in bits and pieces 

strewn into a blacked pit ready to burn

where careless bits before them have gone to die

to be forgotten

wasted on energy 

a puff of smoke; warmth for the feet 

of the careless human 

he does not care for last weeks newspaper clippings

the funnies are no longer funny 

so now they entertain, warm, and crackle 

as they singe and crumple 

defeated under the mouth of the hungry match

again he strikes the match on his uncontained life 

brimming with loose ends 

things that don't matter until they do 

then they are pointless 

save the use of destroying for advancement 

killing, for a greater good 

sacrifice, for an added on usefulness 

the smoke gets louder to his eye 

as he see and smells the potential warmth   

but his face does not change 

still apathy towards that little piece of life burning slowly 

and yet he picks up his latest book and begins to read 

how long till he throws its pages into his selfish fire?

Blind Love

If love is blind
I'd rather not fall
I'd rather not jump not knowing when I'll land
When I'll hit the ground; hard
I would rather not have my sight ripped away
For the feel and smell and taste of blind love
I'd rather see it
See how fast I'm falling and when I'll hit bottom
Then I could prepare myself for the hurt

Catfish

Watched a movie called Catfish
said some people are like catfish
keeping you on your toes; alive
and others are the cods, the ones who follow
who swim in line.
i don't think i like the analogy
everyone can be a catfish
with the right person in tow
everyone likes to be the attention getter

the one who makes the most noise
but everyone is more likely and more easily a cod
one who follows the crowd
even if they are unique enough to follow it separately
they still follow
an underground trend or a "fuck you world" show
they still have something they reach for outside of them
so, i call bullshit on catfish
who think they're hot shit
they are nothing but cods
playing the game while they can

Heavy in your arms

Florence and the machine-Heavy in your arms

I didn't realize I was the chain that held you
The bullet that pushed you over the edge
I'm so heavy
The words I spit out care less, but real
"I love You" whispered and immediately you thrash in your slumber
your solemn lull, the opus state I've put you in
And yet you smile and say the same
Because you killing me too
The trigger pressed cold against my chest, no mercy
The light from your eyes fades
Gone from when we first collided
When I might have loved and been able to love
All I know now is the weight
The heavy heart; the lead inside my numb mind
I scream but you can't hear
You're already gone, already released
But you remain the ghost of my beloved

hide and seek

we play a constant game of hide and seek
tucked under the carpet we leave the filth...
of our lives and who we avoid being:
the broken ones
who speak to amuse and to meet the status quo
one comment for the day to prove we're "normal"
but inside we want to scream
about the nothingness that consumes us for fear of being..
too much or too little
the hole that plagues and grows deeper
at each doubtful, looming thought
we are the ones who play the game
even when it threatens our very lives
we live to please;
live to hide and seek
we hide who we are
and seek who we want to be
knowing neither will ever be enough
this cycle is minimized to a worthy size
a speck of what it would be if we were to admit it
that we are broken and we are searching
playing the game of those we see

Ecology Class

I'm tired of cushion plants and homeotherms!!!!!

I will dream of you tonight

I will dream of you tonight, and wake up in the morn, crisp, anew, drought with hope that will instantly dim and fade as the shadows from the night's affair pass away. the hum of the morning; the slow silence gets louder; filled with a sigh for the nightmare that is reality. stumbling back into it; thrust by the crash of the alarm plundering my mind for the sweet release to consciousness. it's alright...the jump of my heart last only for a moment... and then the calm and sudden shift. the mirror before me shows a girl with dreams still in her eyes and a heavy heart in her chest. she is burdened. but she cannot remain thus, she is living; she must move on and out of bed, reach the shower stall and the front door and try to forget her burden; her subconscious love, hiding in her bedroom head, never to get out alive. only a memory that has never occurred. only a dream that will fade, half remembered. only something she can see for a moment, then gone, gone, gone... 

Redondo

i went to the beach last night
got back at 5 am
i realized a few things
between midnight and the morning
the sea is different at night
i understanding the moaning of creation better now
i might even say absolutely
its waves crash to the sandy floor in a uniform layer
like the tired creak of an old house
powerful and annoyed
it was magic

breathe

pain is strange when it lingers
it enables one to feel sorry for themselves
in any given situation
one finds themselves slipping into self misery
it gets easier and easier when one remembers the lingering throb
its like a catalyst to self pity
even if the throbbing is internal
in your head or on your heart
it still hurts just the same
it burns with the same notes
but it lasts a lot longer
but one should remember
self pity gets one nowhere
one has no excuse for their folly, only grace abounds
this grace should fill in the weak spots in our mind, in our lives
in our hearts that quiver at the darkness of earthly life
if one were to stop it
just stop feeling the sadness so unnecessarily
and rejoice in the gift one has from God to continue to breathe
simple breath we take for granted
when one feels the pain
sharp and steep
one inhales and exhales
defended and does not remember that they are alive

Husband

Husband
Be kind
Humor me...
Love me like a friend
See me wholly for the sake of Christ
Hold my hand laced not cupped
My friends can do that just as well.
Do nothing overly indulgent on Valentine's
Maybe even forget the "holiday" exists
Don't kill me softly
Like the last, the ones before
Give me a long leash
One tight enough to keep me sane
Honor me as a sister in our dear LORD
Keep me safe, by night and by day
Shut me up when I need to hear my silence
Or even when you are tired of hearing me talk
Let me write, let me love, let me
sing and dance with the rhythm of life
And I'll be happy.
Take me to Paris once or twice
You'll earn some extra points for that
But don't think extravagance is the way to my heart 
Be simple, be content in the LORD
And I, I should come second
But first in the light of men.
Husband, I say again
Be kind.

Summer Love

Can I tell you what's been hiding
Lurking behind my eyes?
It's hungry for it's release
Washing over its murky brown cage
Escaping when the warden:
Emotion can't control it
Shadows in the light
Willowing, coldly
It's connected to this heart of flesh
Causing it to quiver with each solemn beat
If I show you will you laugh?
I'm afraid of my defeat...
Would it ruin "This thing we have"
If I strengthened what I've said
Through the weak, wet tears
Running from my eyes instead
Too late for that
You're leaving disgusted, afraid of me
This stupid, wild girl
Crying to make you see 

Me

i sing while i sleep
i cant whistle a tune
i catch fire just as easily as anyone else would
but i chose not to burn out so quickly
am i pretty?
i scratch like a cat
i sting like a bee
if you asked if i loved you
id gladly agree
am i pretty?
if i stand on my head
will i then see you clearly
or will you still simple pass on by
will the labels that label me
be reduced down to one
("Child of God")
or will you continue to pile them high
if i greet you in surplus or smile every second
will my beauty increase by the hour or minute?
if i ask you to see me
i mean really look at me
will you honestly answer my question?
am i pretty?
ive asked you three times now
three times is enough
i wouldnt ask you ever again
your tongue in tied up in your vain pretense
ill live with the label ill always love the best

Dilemma

I got this magazine today and on the cover splashed in vibrant blue was the phrase
"Get Naturally Pretty".........................
WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??1?1/1/1!#$^$%@

Questions for a modern girl

If you had to choose and were given the choice would you be a house wife? would you give it all away and stop pursuing your dreams just to live in a house with a husband and a few kids, maybe a dog? would you let your mind waste no longer able to be schooled or tempered by university? the thinking classes. those are the best; the ones where you can say almost anything and think you have contributed to society in some small way. do you think either would satisfy you? being "in the home" or being "educated". are you a 50's woman or a 70's woman? does it matter in the 21st century?

02/04/11

If people had an expiration date it would be so much easier for me to deal with them. I would humor people a lot more, knowing the numbers on their forehead(because that is where the dates would go) would be inching closer and closer to matching the date on the calender and then I would feel good about myself for being nice to them before they spoiled and had to be thrown away. i would love them and appreciate them, taking them for all they are worth but when the date grew too close for me to continue to comfortably enjoy them i would put them off knowing they would be no good soon. but, alas! people are just people and you can't throw them away even when they are mean, manipulative, stupid or naive, arrogant, annoying or all of those lovely qualities put together in one person. even when that person is you don't throw yourself away. don't ruin it because you tired or angry or sick of being human. He didn't give up and i know you thank Him for that, or at least you should.

Krista in Wonderland

If I were Alice
I would have never have talked to Tweedle
Dee or Dum
If I were Alice
I would have invented something
With the Knights' help
Or maybe even just stolen his helmet
If I were Alice
I would have never stopped running
With the Red Queen
Even though she ran too fast
And never got anywhere
If I were Alice
I would have never left Wonderland once
Let alone twice
I would have stayed there forever
Drinking tea I could never sip
Shopping for things I could never quite see
In a shop owned by a Knitting Sheep
I would have been content to live in the forest
Where no one knows what they are
Because maybe then I would forget
That the closest thing to wonderland
Is worlds away
A dream

ON GOD

I HAVE A THEORY GOD IS SIMPLE
IT'S US HUMANS THAT MAKE HIM SEEM COMPLEX
TRAPPED BY SIN, WOUND UP IN OUR BEINGS
HE HAS TO BE COMPLEX
BECAUSE OF THE COMPLEX BATTLE
THAT RAGES WITHIN US TO DENY HIM
BUT GOD IS SIMPLE
HE IS THE CREATOR
AND WE ARE THE CREATED
STANDING IN AWE
IF WE KNOW WHATS GOOD FOR US

when you feet feel like lead

When your feet feel like lead
You know you've pushed yourself too far
But the earth keeps spinning
Grinding heavily against the need you have
To stand still.
Because the truth of the matter is
You know you must keep going
Keep striving
Past the aching, the numb and the just plain hurt
To get where you need to go
Or rather, just where you're "supposed to be".
And when you feel you can't go on

You look up to find strength
And there it will be,
Crisp as the morning
Keep it and you'll survive
Lose it and you will live, striving
Remember it and you will find the remedy
That kills the ache every time. 

"Quote"

"People that i don't know very well i smile at
politely
people that i do know
i frown at
unsympatetically."
[end quote]

the Gospel

what happens when you get sick of the comforts of life?
the sweet cake just doesn't curb the aching inside
the swinging that brought you back to childhood
make you remember what you childhood was really like
a lie, naiive and padded to the brim with hope
what happens when the hope is gone
do you turn to your "higher power"
what if you think it's not listening
the absence of a firm arm to hold you at night
becomes more and more painful
someone to love that will love you back
...maybe you're praying to the wrong god
imposing your hope on something unreal
on something of total and utter fiction
a vapor of the mind
the light in your eyes will fade
you know everyone dies "someday"
what if you picked up the classic excuse?
the one Holy book that brings so much pain
to people of the world
what if you read it and understood?
what if you believed?

individual

Stop
trying to be someone you're not.
don't let yourself be molded
too much
by others, good or bad.
they want to be someone else
just as much as you do.
everyone wants out,
out of their life and into someone elses.
but where would they go,
into another life
that craves the same thing in a different circumstance?
so walk around
bit by bit,
learning to be you.
it will turn out awkward
and awful
but that's what people are.
when all the bullshit faces are gone,
we are a solid mess of corruption,
a mold of our lives turned upside down.
no one is who they seem to be,
but even more so no one is who they want to be.
Because we try too hard to be the one who has their shit together.