Sleeping Daisies

The last shortcut

2008-09-08T21:36:00.003+01:00

Blood pools into
sticky red lakes,
congealing around islands of gravel.
Everything is still.
Even the birds seem to have stopped.
Hushed voices,
people slink past.
Some cross themselves:
there but for the grace of God...
A tennis shoe lies a few feet away,
discarded,
no longer needed.
This owner won't walk again.
A striped sock pokes out
from under a navy blue blanket.
Bananas have spilled from a leather bags;
papers are lifting gently in the breeze.
Milk has spilt,
and slowly seeps towards the lake of red,
to create a pinkish hue.
Reminders of a meal that was planned:
perhaps a celebration.
But not now.
A loved one will have to force themselves to eat.
But how can they,
with a stomach filled with grief?
A body broken,
like the bent and battered spokes
of the bicycle wheel
that sticks out from under the tyres
of a ten-ton juggernaut,
is all that is left to mourn.
The last shortcut
that went deathly wrong.

Bits and peaces

2008-06-04T21:44:00.003+01:00

Peace and quiet.
Only the sound of bird song.
No cars horns,
no sirens,
no slamming doors.
Just nature.

Peace is not quiet,
in the aftershock of explosion,
shell-shocked,
shattered,
the silence screams out.

"Peace be with you, my brother."
"As-Salāmu `Alaykum, my friend."
"Shalom, my daugther."
Peace is a bridge across
different cultures and beliefs.
Peace seeps through the barriers
until they collapse.

"Let's share the peace."
Hug and kiss and shake hands,
but never really get to know
if that person has peace.
Or not.

Pieces of peace
in amongst the busyness.
A still moment of silence.
A brief moment of quiet,
when for a second
all the world stands still for you.

Shalom.
Wholeness.
Peace 2.0

Mimi Writes.......: BlogBlast For Peace: A Revolution of Words ~ June 4, 2008

Who's next?

Freedom with a price

2008-05-26T10:51:00.002+01:00

Betrayed by my own impulses.
Liberation dances away from me,
as I embrace my own slavery.
Strength of mind and heart
are overridden by
fleshly wants and desires
of greed and lust and mores.
I consistently betray my own moral framework,
I let myself down.
I deny my own self,
refuse to be liberated,
choosing the live in darkness and chains.
How shortsighted is this?
Yet so comfortable.
Liberation requires a choice
and strength to stay free,
to deny the impulses,
to resist the old temptations
that seek to chain me up again.
If only freedom didn't come with a price.

Lousy

2008-04-30T22:24:00.002+01:00

You pulled the wings of butterflies,
poked hamsters in the eyes.
You're cruel
and all the while you smile
and tell me lies about where you've been.

I can smell her on you still,
her cheap perfume.
You're lousy, cheating scum:
and I've changed the locks.

Bigger than us

2008-04-30T21:06:00.002+01:00

You are bigger than we are.
You have history laid out in Your hands,
end to end.
You can see it all.
You know it all.
You love us all,
from beginning to end
of our brief little lives.
Your heart beats for us,
bleeds for us.
You gave up everything
so we could be
close to You.
But we can't quite see
what that meant for You,
what that means for us.
We only see in part
what You have done.
We don't quite understand.
We dismiss You,
diss You,
ignore You,
think you're nothing more than
a white haired grandad
lazing on a cloud,
impotent,
irrelevant.
But You're
omnipotent,
omnipresent,
majestic,
glamourous,
awesome and holy.
Yet You love us.
From the tops of our idol-filled heads
to the tips of our grubby little toes.
You died for us.
So we could be free.

Open book

2008-04-28T19:57:00.001+01:00

I'm an open book,
with a technicolour cover
that tells it all.
No mystery,
no intrigue,
nothing to catch a reader's eye,
nothing to make them want
to find out more
about the story inside.

Completion

2008-04-27T21:54:00.003+01:00

It's a myth that you'll complete me.
How can you?
You're not me,
you can't get inside my head,
you can't know my need.

We've been sold a lie,
a romantic notion
that there is a 'one'
who makes us whole,
fixes the broken bits
and mends our souls.
But it's a dangerous untruth,
that means we're never satisfied.
Because no one can complete us.

And so we keep on searching,
looking for completeness,
throwing away commitment vows
when we think we've found it,
yet again.

"You complete me"
haunts us until we realise
that it's more about what we give
than what we get.

Writer's Island prompt.

Commitment phobe

2008-04-13T19:44:00.002+01:00

I chose him because circumstances meant
it could never be.

I chose him because there was no chance
he'd be interested in me.

I told him I'd love him forever,
after the second glass of wine.

I pursued him
until he got a restraining order out on me.

I convinced him I was nuts,
oh so successfully.

I told the world how I felt,
and that stopped him getting close.

I'm a commitment phobe,
you see.

Fearless

2008-04-10T20:38:00.002+01:00

Oh to be fearless,
to not worry about
not succeeding quite as planned,
to have eliminated failure
from my vocabulary.
To not worry about rejection,
to not take it personally.
To be brave,
seize the day,
step out and take that chance.
To risk that hurt,
risk that pain,
risk egg on the face
or bruised pride.
And to come back again,
shaking it off
like drops of water
on a soggy dog,
not worried about
trying again.
To not be scared
of what I might not succeed.
To not be afraid
of what I might achieve.
To be fearless.
To live every day as it comes.
To not be tied
to live a life of might-have-been's.

Sunday Scribblings prompt

The Way

2008-04-06T22:33:00.003+01:00

Pathways lead somewhere. They are a way forward, a place to go. These images make me think of this quote:

"There is only one means of discovering the true nature of Christianity. We must step out upon this path, commit ourselves to this way of life, and then we shall begin to see for ourselves. So long as we remain outside, we cannot properly understand. Certainly we need to be given directions before we start; we need to be told what signposts to look out for, and we need to have companions. Indeed, without guidance from others, it is scarcely possible to begin the journey. But directions given by others can never convey to us what the way is actually like; they cannot be a substitute for direct, personal experience. Each is called to verify for himself what he has been taught, each is required to re-live the Tradition he has received. ‘The Creed’, said Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow, ‘does not belong to you unless you have lived it’. No one can be an armchair traveler on this all- important journey. No one can be a Christian at second hand. God has children, but he has no grandchildren."
Bishop Kallistos Ware
The Orthodox Way

Sunday Scribblings Photography prompt

Vulnerable

2008-03-28T23:55:00.004Z

I hate how I become
so vulnerable when I'm near him.
How I feel naked and exposed,
as if my inner thoughts
are written on my skin
for all to see.
I feel powerless,
as though I've
surrendered control to him.
I don't want to dance around the subject,
yet it hurts too much
to expose my emotion,
to let him know
what I'm thinking
and feeling.
I hate how I run away
inside myself,
too scared to take
the first step towards
maybe trusting someone again.
I hate the red, burning heat
when we talk,
the uncomfortable nonsense
I spout off without thinking.
I wish there was a short cut,
complete with pain relief,
so I could know and move on,
either way.
I don't like feeling this vulnerable,
out of control.
I wish there was a way
to do this without the pain.

Scarred

2008-03-27T21:47:00.003Z

Scarred by life,
worn like a badge of honour.
I'm a survivor,
I made it through
the rough and tumble,
the darkness,
the nightmares.
Scars each tell a tale
of adventure,
misadventure,
tragedy,
childhood pranks;
life-saving,
life-giving,
near-death.
If they could talk,
oh, the the tales they could tell
of days gone by.
They add character,
each one a flaw,
yet tells of a life lived,
of something more than can be seen
on the surface.
Scarred beauty.
Humanity showing
in a world that wants,
yet cannot give,
perfection.

What gives

2008-03-27T21:40:00.002Z

Do I really want what I say I want.
What am I prepared to give
in order to see it happen.
What will I give up,
take up, let go of
in order to see a dream fulfilled.
Or would I rather keep everything but
that thing I say I want,
and live a life of might-have-beens.
Will I take a risk,
the sacrifice of hard work and compromise;
or will I just save face and settle
for something less than I could have
if I really tried.
If I really wanted it.
Am I prepared to risk failure,
to pick up my pride in the face of rejection
and carry on.
Or would I rather lock my dreams away
to crumble and decay
until they become dust,
scattered regrets in my twilight years.
Do I ask a question,
make that call;
buy it, give it;
take that chance.
Because maybe -
just maybe -
the answer might be yes,
and that would be
one step closer to my dream.

Déjà vu

2008-03-26T19:06:00.004Z

Here I am again.
Sometimes nothing seems to change.
It's like déjà vu:
I've been here so many times.
Over and over,
the same thoughts have run through my head.
Why do I persist in allowing them?
Why can't I move on,
let the déjà vu go.
A deluge of déjà vu emotions,
trying to take me hostage,
trying to take control.

Here I am again.

Writers Island.

Colour blind

2008-03-08T22:20:00.002Z

I'm human, just like you.
Underneath the colour of our skin
our hearts beat,
pushing the same colour blood around our bodies.
We breathe the same air into our lungs,
though we don't share a mother tongue.
Yet because of this you look at me
as though I'm scum.
I feel the heat of the sun,
just like you do.
The same earth turns beneath our feet.
Winds blow and rains fall on us,
just the same,
but you still see me as a second class
non-person.
I wish you were colour blind.

Rising

2008-03-08T11:34:00.001Z

Rising up from the ashes of mistakes, obsession, addiction: freedom.
Freedom to leave behind the shackles of past mistakes;
freedom to move onwards, upwards, into something bigger than before.
Freedom to strike out for a new shore;
the horizon of opportunities stretches ahead...

Writer's Island prompt 7 March 08.

Rivalry, a Writer's Island prompt

2008-03-01T00:48:00.003Z

She's always got to be the best, the one who gets it right, has the last word, knows it all. She just can leave it. Can't leave it alone, can't stop pushing. Every minute, every second we're together, she's sizing me up, comparing me to herself; if others are around she plays up her achievements. talks me down in front of them.

She watches, like a hawk, for a slip of the tongue, a mis-placed hair, a slight smear of make up or beads of sweat that show me to be a lesser mortal than she. She crows about her intelligence, and expects everyone to look up to her. You can never tell her if she's wrong about something: it's not worth the pain of coming up against her.

She expects us to mother her, lover her, put her on a pedestal and polish her daily, worship her words. She expects the world to drop everything to pander to her whim.

Everyone's a rival, in her eyes.

Writer's Island

Five steps, a short story by Sleeping Daisy

2008-02-27T21:21:00.001Z

It's said there are five stages to grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. I know it's no longer an automatic death sentence, but the words "I'm sorry, you've got cancer" initially feel that way. I'm 30 years old and I have breast cancer. And I've been through all five of those stages. I think I actually went through all five stages in less than a minute after the doctor told me.

Denial: "No, don't be silly, it's just a cyst."
Anger: "Why me? I gave up smoking so I wouldn't get cancer."
Bargaining: "OK God, if you get rid of this I'll go to Africa."
Depression: "What's the point of talking about treatment, I'm going to die anyway, and I might as well do it with all my hair."
Acceptance: "OK, right, what's the next step?"

Denial

It started with a lump in my armpit. One day there it was, grape-sized, rubbing against the edge of my bra; uncomfortably sore. If I stretched my arm out above my head I could see it, a raised lump beneath the pale white and stubbled skin (I've not got the nerve to wax there).

At first I thought it was probably hormones (after all, I had raging, homicidal PMS at the time); or perhps I was fighting a bug, and I had had a sore throat the day before. I was used to sore lymph glands with an infection in my sinuses, but it was usually the other side and I'd never had a lump before. I left it two weeks, as Google'ing 'swollen lymph nodes' led me to a myriad of healthcare-related websites that told me it probably wasn't cancer, but if it lingered, I should go and see my doctor. I wasn't that worried. After all, I'd had a lump in my groin a few months before and that went - eventually - after antibiotics. It wasn't going to be anything nasty, no way.

But this was the real thing.

Anger

It's a horrible thing, cancer. Your body is creating mutant cells that are basically growing so fast they take over your normal cells and start to kill you. Thanks, body, really appreciate it! I started to think of the cells a bit like terrorists, and in my mind they looked a bit like Worms, characters from the computer game my brothers and I used to play when we were kids: tiny pink worms wearing camouflage gear and tin helmets (always tin helmets), smoking cigarettes and driving their tiny tanks around my body.

But despite their comical image in my mind, they were real terrorists in my body, slowly and determinedly waging war against me. They'd infiltrated the tissue in my breast, and the initial lump I had found (it wasn't the only one) meant they were mounting a campaign to infiltrate further, hitching a ride around my body through my lymphatic system. They were going to wreak havoc wherever they went.

We needed a counter-terrorist movement and perhaps cancer is the only place where ID cards will ever have a good chance at stopping terrorists. The genetic markers that identified the rogue cells from normal cells would allow the poisonous chemicals the doctors wanted to pump me full of to selectively seek and destroy, leaving my healthy cells relatively unscathed. Though there are always, unfortunately, a number of civilian casualties in the war against terror.

Bargaining

But this didn't happen overnight. The great dowager NHS can't rock 'n' roll these days - she's getting on in years and likes to tread a little more slowly. But she's not dead yet (and neither am I), and within four weeks I was sat in front of an oncologist talking about treatments.

I started to weigh up the options in terms of percentage survival rates, amount of pain and sickness, whether I'd keep my hair or not. Did I want surgery and would I lose my breast. What about chemotherapy or radiotherapy or hormone therapy? Would I go into remission, and if so how long? How should I change my diet to keep me healthy during treatment?

With each question came another set. If I lost a breast (and if I'm honest, they were part of my body I was the most proud), would I get to live longer: would I win points in the game of life for sacrificing my pride, ego and vanity with a mastectomy? What about my fertility? How many years could I exchange for that? Could I trade: 5 years for fertility or losing a breast, but 15 for both.

Depression

Or did I want treatment at all. After all, would there be much point. Even if treatment A had a 90% chance of full remission, and treatment B 95%, everyone has to be that statistic, that 5% or 10% we don't like to talk about. Maybe I would be better off dying there an then, rather than pump my body full of poisons in the hope that I might survive, flat-chested and sterile, only to die five years later from a full blown, body-wide war.

Did I want to talk about it? No. The tiny little tanks had been abandoned, and my terrorists had graduated to faster means of travel; hurtling around my body, leaving devastation in their wake. Perhaps it was time to give in and let the new regime take over.

Or perhaps not.

Acceptance

I might only have a few months, or I might have years, but resigning myself to giving in without a counter-attack was no way to deal with this. But more importantly, what was I going to do with the time left? Was I going to sit around, too frightened to do anything, too scared to have fun in case it set off another chain of events in my body? No! I was going to live my life, every day as it came and do the things I'd been holding back on. I was going to travel the Rockies by train, ride an elephant, tell the guy I'd loved for years how I really felt.

In times of grief, times of terror, we find an inner strength that enables us to go on despite the circumstances. I'd found that place.

In five long and painful steps.

It all started with a chocolate cookie, a short story by Sleeping Daisy

2008-02-27T19:33:00.001Z

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. They never say - or at least not when I'm listening - that it's the same for a woman. Or maybe I'm more man than a woman ever should be. Because it all started with a chocolate cookie.

He was - and still is - gorgeous. Stunning green eyes I would lose myself in. Jet black hair that curled at the nape of his neck. His forearm bears a scar from youthful adventures involving water and rocks: jagged, it zig-zags from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, a puckered mountain range rising from the soft plains of the flesh of his forearms. His skin is the colour of lightly toasted bread, belying his exotic origins, and is covered in coarse black hair. I used to watch his hands and fingers move as he picked out notes on his bass guitar; just the sight of the delta of hair that traversed his wrist and nestled in the soft, flesh part between thumb and forefinger would give me a little shiver (still does).

But more than the sums of his parts, he was a lesson in how easy it is to lose your head and your heart into a whole heap of trouble.

A glance. Just a glance as I passed by him on the street. The corner of my eye was the only conscious part of me involved in the first sighting of him. But my subconscious must have registered more than I realised, because when I had to talk my car in for a service there was a jolt of recognition. Where had I seen this man before. Was it in my dreams, because if so, I didn't realise I had such an amazing imagination. When I handed him the car keys, his fingers brushed against mine - it was like the static shocks the car door gives me once in a while.

He turned away, put my keys down and leant over the desk (oh, the beauty of that!) to pick something up. He turned back to me with a plate of double chocolate cookies in his hand.

"Cookie?" he questioned, in that deep, accented voice that gives me tingles and haunts my day dreams. "I made them myself."

And there is was. An innocent offer that involved two of my greatest weaknesses: men and chocolate. As the cookie crumbled in my mouth, so did my resolve. How was I going to get away from this meeting unscathed, unaffected by him.

I still think of that moment, all these years later, as a little hand reaches into the cookie jar. Her Daddy still makes the cookies, once a month as a treat. And when he does, the next night the little person waits at the door in anticipation for his arrival. And when she sees the car at the end of the road, rushes into the kitchen, drags a chair across the floor and climbs up onto the counter to reach a plate and a glass from the cupboard, puts it on the table, then tips out the cookie jar to find the biggest and bestest cookie, placing it carefully in the centre of the plate. Then she dashes to the fridge where she takes out the orange juice and, shaking in her excitement, pours it into the glass (though more goes on the floor than in the glass), and finally dashes to the door, where she grabs her Daddy's hand, drags him into the kitchen, then curls up in his lap, sucking her thumb whilst he eats his cookie and drinks his juice.

And her Mummy? My heart skips a beat as they sit there, the two greatest passions in my life sharing a special moment together.

Because it all started with a chocolate cookie.

Prompt: Sunday Scribblings #99 - Passion

No more make believe

2008-02-17T18:33:00.003Z

I'm so tired of waking up and wondering who I'm meant to be today.
I lift another heavy mask and put it on.
I can't keep on playing roles for eternity.

One day the fig leaf slips,
the walls crumble,
there's no place left to hide.
I can't pretend anymore.
I let you see,
the real me beneath the porcelain smile.

And then you...
Accept me as I am.
In all my dirty nakedness,
with my rotten core exposed,
you wrap your arms around me,
and I feel fine.
If feels so right with you,
there's no more make believe.

When I'm with you I can be who I'm supposed to be:
you centre me.
I may not be a princess, but you're sure not a prince.

But that's OK.
We don't need to try impress
each other with those twisted, tainted lies
we tell the world about ourselves.
In our broken, flawed bodies
we rejoice in breaking free.

Because you...
Accept me as I am.
In all my dirty nakedness,
with my rotten core exposed,
you wrap your arms around me,
and I feel fine.
If feels so right with you,
there's no more make believe.

And I see you.
I see the cracks in the walls
you put around yourself.
And I reach out, to you,
and hold you close,
two imperfect people,
lives intertwined in the reality.
No more make believe.

Mask

2008-02-16T19:08:00.002Z

The cool, calmly collected
emotional wreck.
Which face shall I wear today?
Which me do you want to see?
The professional,
the tease.
The introvert,
the extrovert;
which one will please you.
Are you longing for my compassion
or my passion.
Do you want me to fight you
or right you when you're wrong -
madam teacher.
Who shall I be,
who can I be,
today,
tomorrow.
Would you prefer
serious or hilarious,
musical or scientific.
Do you want to talk
about the secrets of the universe,
or the latest football scores.
Should I be competent
or a damsel in distress:
which will ease you most.
Should I talk,
should I listen,
agree or disagree.
Who am I when I'm with you,
or you, or you?
I'm not sure I can always see
through the faces of the masks I wear.

Commuter

2008-02-16T01:25:00.002Z

Head down,
shoulders braced against the tide of people.
Always somewhere else to be.
Not here.
Hurry, hurry, rush, rush.
Busy, busy, busy.
Scurry like an ant on a mission,
like the hamster on his wheel.
Round and round we go each day.
Same old, same old,
a well-trodden path
we sleepwalk along.
"Excuse me."
"Sorry."
"Coming through."
Rush hour mantras,
hypnotic in their regularity.
Comfort in our usual seat,
the same place on the platform
as yesterday,
a million yesterdays all rolled into one.
One, two, swipe ticket.
Three, four, up the stairs.
Five, six, sit down, relax.
Are you sitting comfortably?
Enjoy the ride.
Hurry, hurry,
rush, rush,
busy, busy, busy.

Time travel

2008-02-16T01:24:00.000Z

Oh to go back in time,
to write the wrongs,
to change the past,
to erase the mistakes we made.
But to wipe away the past
means we change the present,
risk the future.
A paradox of uncertainty
created by hasty, pain-filled actions.
We cannot be other than who we are becoming,
and we become from who we were.

Writer's Island prompt.

Sunshine beauty

2008-02-14T19:34:00.002Z

Everyone's beautiful when the sun is shining.
Furrowed frowns fade away.
Faces revealed,
no longer hidden by scarves and hoods.
Dreary black
gives way to colours of spring.
Blue skies
filled with powder puff clouds,
a crispness, a sharpness in the air.
Greens seem greener,
everything seems brighter,
lighter, somehow.

The bus

2008-02-03T20:21:00.001Z

A glimpse of others from my plexiglas-coated carriage.
A glimpse of life as I go by.
Snatches of public and private moments:
an unwitting voyeur into sacred spaces.

Middle-aged, Mediterranean men fold
crisp white napkins, napkins,
placed against the shining silver of the cutlery
and the gleam of glasses,
ready for the nightly rush.

A dance class through a sliver of open window,
all legs and hips and sweat.

A snatched kiss in a doorway,
an embrace at a bus stop,
and hand-in-hand, a couple move through their house,
leading away to a private moment.

Kids rush and tear around rooms,
bang noisily on tables.

A flickering fluorescent in an empty cafe,
a security guard,
lonesome figure in the empty office block he keeps safe.

Animated conversation,
hands flying, face contorted in laughter,
one-sided on a mobile
as syllables are whipped away through the air.

A small, elderly dog bustles at the crossing,
wrapped up warm in his tartan coat,
waiting for the green man
with his elderly mistress
and her matching tartan trolley.

A smoker,
society's pariah,
emerges from a bar,
huddled out of the wind.
Joined by others,
the flickering flame a badge of membership
to an exclusive club of solidarity in their habit.

A football bounces along the gutter.
Young men chase it,
passing to one another,
back slapping and hat flicking,
hoddies up, shoulders hunched,
dreaming of being the next Henry or Rooney.

A glimpse of others from my plexiglas-coated carriage.
A glimpse of life as I go by.
Snatches of public and private moments:
an unwitting voyeur into sacred spaces,
as my own soundtrack plays in my head,
my own sacred space
in the glare of somewhere so public.

I can't wait... for you

2008-02-01T17:35:00.000Z

I can't wait for you to begin my life.
You may not ever come.
And then where would I be,
living a non-life,
forever waiting.
And who are you, anyway?
That I do not know.

No.
I need to move on with life.
Do the things I need to do.
On my own if I must.
I need to live my life
not a contingency plan.
I only get one shot
and I need to not waste it.
I can't wait for you.
You'll catch me up
if that's what's meant to be.

Senseless

2008-02-01T17:28:00.000Z

I can't see you.
I can't feel you.
I can't hear you.
I can't touch you.
I can't smell you.
I can't taste you.
My senses have no way of telling me you're even real.
Yet I know you're here.

The sun rises as a smile to me.
Birds sing a love song from you.
You give me flowers,
carpeting the earth around me.
You built mighty mountains
that show off your strength.
The depth of the ocean,
the breadth of the universe,
are minuscule in comparison to your love for me.

You send the sun to warm me.
Rain to refresh me.
You send snow,
which makes me laugh and dance like a child.
A rainbow is your promise.
As is the tree.
For it is upon the tree
where you showed how truly you love
by dying for me,
so that I might be spared the pain
of all I deserve.
You did that
so that I might be free.

Hold me

2007-08-21T22:59:00.000+01:00

Hold me.
Keep me safe in your arms.
Hug me tighter to you.
Be there when I wake,
your arm across me,
legs entangled.
Sleep in your eyes
as you smile at me.
The warmth of your body
next to me.
You brush my hair from my face.
I run my fingers across your chest,
gently circling.
Strong arms grab me,
embrace me.
Pull me to you,
wrapped together.

Cold

2007-08-19T20:03:00.001+01:00

Tears turn to ice,
won't flow.
A coldness inside,
hard as steel,
won't be broken.
Bars of iron wrap my heart,
cage it in,
locking away
my ability to feel.

Broken

2007-08-19T20:02:00.001+01:00

Running
Searching
Hoping
Aching
Longing
Seeking
Calling
Hunting
Grabbing
Finding
Slipping
Falling
Sinking
Drowning
Dying
Broken

Numb

2007-08-19T19:58:00.000+01:00

I'm numb,
deadened inside,
can't feel a thing.
I reach out to man,
who does not satisfy my need.
He cannot fill me,
love me enough.
I fumble in the darkness.
I watch as I cheapen myself
in a bid to feel alive.
I watch,
detached from myself
as I go through the motions.
I use man
to see if I can feel.
Anything.
I can't.
I let man use me
to see if I'm still alive,
to see if I will fight.
I feel dead.

I long to reach out to You,
to call on Your Name.
I long for Your grace and mercy,
Your healing.
But I can't seem to.
Is it my shame that stops me,
or because I feel too numb
to feel the shame I should.
I long for You to break through,
but I'm scared it will hurt to much
when You'll shatter me in the process.
Help me.
Please.

It's not you, it's me

2007-08-14T23:04:00.001+01:00

It's not you, it's me.
Sorry.
I've realised now
it never was about you at all.
I've come to see
it was all about me.
About my need:
you were just there.
I used you
to fill the gap,
to meet the need
in my imagination.
I now can see
that if I can so easily
transfer my affection to another,
who is nothing more than a lustful thought,
it was never about you at all.
And for that
I am sorry.
It's not you.
It's me.

Inner battle

2007-08-14T23:03:00.001+01:00

There's an inner battle
going on inside me.
Each time I see you
the struggle starts
between what I know is right
and what I crave.
A fantasy of you
inside my head.
Nothing real.
Thoughts of a stolen kiss
I should not have had.
A daily war
between right and wrong.
I fancy you.
You fancy me.
It would never be
more than a forbidden fling.
It cannot be.
Each day I'm fighting this.
And each day I'm winning that battle
a little bit more.
Growing stronger.

Tightrope

2007-07-28T12:28:00.000+01:00

Balanced, precariously.
One wrong step and it's all over,
plummeting downwards.
Everything balanced.
Such an effort to keep upright,
keep everything together.
Pushed and pulled,
shaken.
Can't see what to hold on to.

Unbalanced.
I sense myself falling.
Can I stop it?
Do I embrace the blackness?
Or fight it?
Too tired to fight,
the embrace calls out to me,
I long to fall
into its deceptive charms,
a siren call of lies
dressed up all pretty.

But I must fight.

Icarus

2007-06-27T00:25:00.000+01:00

I didn't realise
I could fly
so high
so quickly,
until I met you.

I don't know
you'd be like the sun,
that if I got too close
I'd burn and melt,
like Icarus.

Tired

2007-05-29T22:17:00.000+01:00

Tired.
So tired of obligation.
Duty bound to do the things
that need to be done.
The things no one else will do
because they know I'll do them.

Tired.
So tired of missing out
on things I want to do
for things I should be doing.
While others merrily
go about their way,
not a care for seeing that
the routine things get done.

Tired.
So tired of going home alone
each day
when all I want is arms to hold me tight
and not let go,
to whisper words of encouragement
and stay.
No wife to go back to,
no husband or child,
no boyfriend to keep them from me.
So tired of yet another heartbreak.
So tired of fighting on my own.

Tired.
So tired of feeling cut off from God,
not feeling as though I'm meeting Him
at church.
Too conscious of what is going on around,
checking everyone's OK,
helping keep the children busy.
So tired of not being able to let go,
to abandon myself to Him,
for fear of others' sensibilities.

Tired.
So tired of life
when hormones rage
and bring me down low,
so sometimes I understand
how some just can't go on.
How easy it could be to just let go.
It's all too much:
responsibility burdens me
to the point where I want to rebel
and walk,
run away from it all,
leave it all behind.
Run off and make another life,
start afresh somewhere else,
as someone else.
Or stop it all...

So tired.

Waiting

2007-05-08T23:50:00.000+01:00

I wait for you.
For you to be you,
for me to be me.
Time will take us there,
make who we need to be.
Until we're ready,
I'll wait.
As long as it takes,
as long as you need,
as long as I need.
I wait for you.
I wait for me.

Ezer Kenegda

2007-05-03T00:00:00.000+01:00

Not from your head so I can control you.
Not from your feet so you can trample me.
But from your side so I am your equal,
your helper, your support,
your lover, your friend.
I long for you.
For you to be captivated by me.
For you to fight for me.
Come for me, my darling,
let me fight alongside you.
Let me be your ezer kenegda.

Echoes of Eve

2007-05-01T21:52:00.000+01:00

Echoes of Eve shockwave across time and space.
The consequences of her actions aftershock in my life.
History, destined to repeat itself without the intervention of
the time Lord Himself,
who reaches back, back, back into our past
and wipes away the stain of sins,
our actions and inactions,
if we call on Him.

Shepherd

2007-04-16T21:10:00.000+01:00

The Lord's my shepherd.
I hear His voice.
I know Him,
I trust and follow Him.
He will lead me
along paths of rest
and restoration.
When I ignore His voice
I lose my way and falter,
my burden becomes heavy,
my heart becomes hard.
I go my own way,
stray and wander
away from His shelter.
I stand alone.
Lost.
Cut off from His protection
I become stuck,
trapped by the thorns,
wrapping around
so my arms and leg are not free
to escape.
Thorns wrap around my neck.
The more I fight,
try to escape,
the tighter they become,
slowly choking life
and love from me.

The Lord's my shepherd
and I am lost.
Stuck.
Trapped on the other side,
where the grass looked greener
but was full of stings and thorns.
Trapped by my own desires,
caught up through my stubbornness,
I now can't turn around.
All I can do is cry out
to Him
to come and rescue me.
I hear His voice.
I cry out my desperate response
to the only One
who can release me,
set me beside cool water
and wash me clean,
wipe away the cuts from the thorns.
Only He can wash me clean,
white as snow,
and set me in the green pasture.
Only He can return me home
among His flock.
In my brokenness
His grace restores me.

Lord, You are my shepherd.
Hear my voice as I cry out to You.

Star

2007-04-07T13:35:00.001+01:00

Star.
Shines for you.

Aretha got it right

2007-04-07T13:32:00.000+01:00

Aretha got it right.
It's respect that you need.
You need to respect and trust a man
before you can commit.
If you manipulate – you don't respect.
If you try to control – you don't trust.
Will you believe he has only the best
in mind for you?
Will you believe he'd sacrifice
his life for you?
Will you trust him with your heart?
Will you respect his right to choose you?
Will you respect your differences,
not try to change him?
Without respect
you cannot be with him.

The in between

2007-04-07T11:36:00.000+01:00

I see the death of hope,
it's body broken,
battered,
bloody,
no breath.
Lifeless.
Promises shattered with it.
I can't understand what happened.
I can't see beyond the pain,
the loss.
What happened to the promise?
What happened to the hope?
Was it just an empty, hollow lie,
a tease,
a trick?
Hope springs eternal?
No!
Hope is dead,
buried in the tomb.
Hope is gone.
Darkness overwhelms.
Sadness tears my heart
as the stone is rolled across,
shutting away
dead hope.
It is finished.

Collision

2007-04-07T00:01:00.000+01:00

Worlds collide.
Past and present,
future, hopes and dreams,
shaken up.
It's a risky business,
exploring love.
Opening heart and soul
to rejection.
Sharing hopes and fears.
Bringing secrets out into the open.
Letting the real you
step out of the shadows
to be seen.
Discovering one another.
Likes and dislikes,
habits and hobbies.
Allowing self to be loved.
Allowing self to give.
Seismic shifts in who you are,
becoming part of another's life.
Collision course.
Risky choice.
But cannot let it pass.

The most important thing

2007-04-03T22:20:00.000+01:00

It doesn't matter if you don't have a six-pack like Brad Pitt.
It doesn't matter if you can't sing like Robbie Williams.
It doesn't matter if you don't look like Colin Farrell.
It doesn't matter if you can't drum like Ringo Starr.
It doesn't matter if you can't play guitar like John Lennon.
It doesn't matter if you can't cook like Jamie Oliver.
It doesn't matter if you don't earn as much as Donald Trump.
It doesn't matter if you can't bend it like Beckham.
It doesn't matter if you don't work 9-5.
It doesn't matter even if you're not always on time.

It matters how you treat me.
It matters Who you believe in.
It matters that you understand why I live my life this way.
It matters that you'll pray with me.
It matters that you'll pray for me.
It matters that you'l encourage me along the way.
It matters how you use your gifts.
It matters.

I've seen them fall, one by one,
my Christian sisters.
Disappointed.
Disheartened.
Disillusioned.
I've seen them, one by one,
lose their faith over a man.
I've seen them leave the narrow way,
because of a man who does not believe.
I've seen them wander off the path
and not return.

I don't want to be like them.
I've wandered,
but I've come back.
I don't want to wander again.
It matters that I share my life
with one who understands my faith.
I need the strength to walk the narrow path.
I need the faith to resist the lure away.
I need the strength to wait and hope
and pray that some day
one will come along that same path with me.
It doesn't matter who he is.
Yet it matters who he is,
and who his hope is in.
That's the most important thing.

Mediocre

2007-04-02T22:32:00.000+01:00

I live a life of mediocity,
coloured with hypocrisy.
I want to live life on the edge;
the very best of the best.
There must be more than this;
a hollow smile, and empty kiss.
I want to work to live,
making the most of my gifts.
I need a reason to rise,
I need to feel alive.

Satisfy

2007-04-01T17:50:00.000+01:00

I fill myself with food.
But part of me's still empty.
I by new things,
clothes, shoes,
to make me look a different way.
But I'm still the same inside.
I chase after love and affection,
I hope to drive the loneliness away.
But still the ache,
the longing is there.
I drink away the nervousness.
But even then I find it hard
to reach out and connect
with someone new.
Nothing earthly satisfies.
Nothing human fills the hole
inside of me
completely.

Yo-yo

2007-03-31T11:59:00.000+01:00

Push me.
Pull me.
To you.
Away from you.
Nearer.
Further.
Imbalanced.
Confused about you.
I open up.
I close myself,
shut down,
protect myself.
I respond to you.
But I can't read you.
Don't want hurt.
Don't want embarassment.
So I will
continue to
yo-yo
back and forth to you.

Body talk

2007-03-31T11:55:00.000+01:00

Body talks.
Screams a need.
Demands to be heard.
Body lies.
Screams desire.
Won't be denied.
Body rules
my head, my heart.
Every little part
of me
is being mastered
by my flesh.
My flesh is weak,
held ransom
by itself.
Won't let me seek
or pursue
the Sprit that will free,
that will over rule
the body that is shouting out.
Body talks.
Driving me mad.

Crush

2007-03-31T11:52:00.000+01:00

I know I shouldn't.
It's just so wrong
to feel this way.
You'll never be mine.
Can't be.
Inappropriate.
Sin.
A secret
I can't confess.

Perception

2007-03-26T23:36:00.001+01:00

Kick me when I'm down.
Tempt me at my weakest.
Taunt me when I can barely keep
my head above water.
Twist my perceptions,
through gossip,
so I don't know what's true any more.
Laugh at me as I stumble blindly.
When I'm crawling, you ridicule,
belittle, humiliate me.

"How pathetic", you cry.
"How pathetic you are", I respond,
"that you delight in a fight
when I'm already down".

"How weak you are", you whisper in my ear.
"No weaker than you", I respond,
"if you can only bring me lower".

"I've won this battle", you crow.
I look at you.
"But you've lost the war."

Idol

2007-03-13T22:24:00.000Z

You shall have no other gods before.
Not money,
not sex,
not fantasy,
not drink,
not drugs,
not career,
not fame,
not the right clothes,
not the 'right' image,
not family,
not children,
not marriage.
If you follow Me,
nothing shall take My place,
for I am a jealous God
and will consume your idols.
They cannot survive.
They cannot replace me.
They cannot fulfill.
Your idols are empty shadows of Me,
poor replacements,
counterfeit gods
with empty promises.
The hole inside you want to fill
is My shape.
Only I will fit.
And when I fill your emptiness
all other things will take
their rightful place.

Recycle

2007-03-10T14:51:00.000Z

Your love can be recycled.
Your love can be used again.
It doesn't run out
when thrown out,
tossed aside by the waster who
used it up,
tore it apart,
twisted it,
broke it,
didn't see its value,
just left it to tarnish.
Don't let your love remain
unseen, hidden away
where it was unceremoniously dumped.
Don't let it rot.
Dust it off,
bring it out into the light,
shine it up,
good as new.
Let it gleam.
One man's rubbish is
another's prize to be
sought after,
fought for,
cherished and won.
Your love can be recyled.
It's not trash.

Bounce

2007-03-10T14:43:00.000Z

Time.
Edging closer to one another,
friendship building.
Giving.
Taking.
Sharing.
Too much.
Too soon.
I pull back.
Too demanding.
Need space to breather.
Can't focus.
Can't think.
Need a happy medium
between friendship and
suffocating closeness.
Bounce back and forth
to find this.
Spring away
as boundaries crossed.
Barriers up.
Re-set.
Find self again.
Cautious now,
edging towards
closer friendship.
More aware of comfort zone,
needs.
Don't ignore them.
Steadiness now.
Less bounce.

Incoming

2007-03-05T23:26:00.000Z

Guided missile.
Stealth.
Heart-seeking,
finds its target.
Collision course for
maximum devastation.
Under attack
from the enemy.
Unannounced.
No warning siren.
Unprepared
again.
Debris
all around.
Pick through the pieces.
What's survived?
Build it up.
Start again.
Be more prepared
next time.
Watch and wait.
Be alert.
Premptive strike.

Cliff

2007-03-04T22:42:00.000Z

Cliff top,
cliff edge,
wind whipping my hair,
eyes sting,
salty taste in the air.
Sun shines,
sea roars,
waves break,
crashing,
dashing on the rocks.
So alive in the face
of the power of creation,
the power of the Creator.

Door

2007-03-04T22:38:00.000Z

Doors in front,
behind,
beside.
Some open a crack,
some firmly shut.
Which one to choose,
which one to push open
and step through.
Choices,
choices.
Frustrated by those
firmly closed,
not budging,
but knowing what's behind.
Beckoned by sights
through the cracks.
Tempted by colours,
sounds, sights, smells:
should I try?
I push on one timidly,
should I try it,
will it be the right one,
will it be the wrong one?
Push it and see.
And keep on pushing until
it pushes back,
slams in my face,
another direction closed.
Another door to try,
to be pushed gently
for fear of it being slammed.
Can't force this one.
Only time will tell
how far it will open
to me.

Face value

2007-03-04T17:09:00.000Z

We're not what we seem,
you and I.
Don't take us at face value:
we're worth so much more,
made up of more than we can see
from the outside.
See me.
See you.
Treat me as who I am,
not who I appear to be.
Handle me with care,
with grace, with prayer.
Face value
is not true value.

I see, you see

2007-03-04T17:07:00.000Z

I cannot see what you see.
No matter how hard you try to show me
I will see it through my eyes,
with different colours, shades and tones,
from a different angle.
I will see the same thing:
but different,
shaped by my life,
my past and present,
who I was
and who I am.
You cannot see what I see.
But I can share with you
and you with me
what we see.
And together we might have
a greater understanding
of who we are,
you and I,
because of what we see.

Freak unique

2007-02-28T22:12:00.000Z

I'm a freak unique,
one of a kind.
There will never be another like me
and quite rightly so,
because I'm flat-out crazy,
a ditherer and hazy,
walking the line of sanity,
my own worst enemy,
preoccupied with vanity,
twisted up inside.

He never said

2007-01-30T22:50:00.000Z

He never said we would always be
happy.
He never promised us we would never
suffer.
He never made the guarantee of
an easy life.
He never said we'd go through life
unopposed.
He never told us everyone
would like us.
He never said that the path we follow
will be easy,
that we'd never have to stop and ask
for directions.
He never promised us
riches in this life.
He never said we'd never have
to face a difficult decision,
make a sacrifice.
He never said any of that.

But He said that if we follow Him,
He will give us joy.
He said that if we are His friend,
He would give us peace.
He promises us
eternal treasure,
not worldly riches.
He warns us
we will suffer
because we follow Him.
He demands of us
sacrifice,
as He sacrificed Himself
for us.
But He always promises
He will be by our side,
to comfort us,
to strengthen us,
to help us on our way.
He's always there
even when we turn away.
He'll never let us go.

But He never said it would be
easy.

Not as good as I thought I was

2007-01-30T22:30:00.000Z

Bubble burst,
pride hurt.
From flying high
to finding myself
falling flat on my face.
Perfectionist moves
losing out.
Not as good
as I thought I was.

But this is all I've got.

How do you do it?

2007-01-30T07:59:00.000Z

How is it
you succeed
in making me
feel so unworthy.

How is it
you have the skill
to make me
feel so small,
so unscrewed,
compared to you.

How do you
make the places
you spend time
outside of where me meet,
sound so exclusive;
a private club
I lack the skills
to belong to.

Why does your world
seem so black and white.
Where are the shades
of grey that make up life.
Why do you seem
so sorted,
know where you stand
on everything.

How is it
you make me feel
so insecure,
as if I could never be
good enough for you.

You make me want to
hide myself away,
lock up my indecision,
strip out my emotional,
crazy, irrational side,
push away my doubts
and throw away the key.

When I'm with you
so often I want
to put on the mask of confidence,
to impress,
to prove I'm strong and capable,
not fragile, weak and vulnerable.
When I feel like that
I just want
to curl inside my shell
and hope you didn't notice me.

Touch

2007-01-29T22:02:00.001Z

You took my hand.
It was so good to feel wanted.
You embraced me tight,
as though I was the only person in the room
with you.
I felt so safe,
so secure
in your embrace.
I wanted to melt into it,
lay down all the stress and strain
and let you overwhelm me,
envelope me.
Give in to the thing my body craves,
yearns for:
touch.
You spoke my language that night.
Your body talked to mine,
said things it had not heard in a while.
It felt so good to be held
I wanted to stay like that forever.
But I can't.
We don't belong
together that way.

Prism

2007-01-29T22:02:00.000Z

Who is the real me.
Who is the real me.
Who is beneath my skin,
inside my head.
Who is the real me.

Personalities like a prism,
refracting,
reflecting
different facets of me.
Which is real, which is fake.
Who wears the mask.

More mes than colours in a rainbow.
Catch glimpses
of the different faces
from different angles,
different places,
all part of one,
all part of me.

Who is the real me?

Place of waiting

2007-01-27T23:06:00.000Z

How long, O Lord.
How long must I wait on You.
How long must I stay in this place of preparation,
waiting for You to move me on.

How long will it take,
this transformation,
the work You are doing in me.

Strengthen me to endure this time with hope.
Help me to persevere through the darkness,
when I cannot see the way.
Give me Your joy, Your comfort in the lonely times.

Even in the dark times, I will praise You.
Even in the waiting.
Even when my hope fails I will praise You where I am.

For Your ways are good.
You have Your hand on me
and I trust You in the darkness
to lead me on.

Let me use this time of waiting for Your glory, O Lord.

Phoenix

2007-01-27T23:05:00.000Z

Flame
Passion
Burning bright and fast
Burnt out
Dying embers
Ashes

Breathe
Life breathed over ashes
Unsettled
Stirred up
Breath of life
Power
Strength
Ashes, dust, moulded
New creation
New life
Brokenness becomes whole again
Beauty rises from the ashes

Burdened

2007-01-05T20:26:00.000Z

Crushed by the burdens
I pick up and carry with me.
Stooped by the yoke
slung across my shoulders.
Stumbling under the weight
of the baggage I take everywhere with me.
Slowed by my own expectations
and pressures I place on myself.

I beat myself up
because of my slowness,
my inability to change overnight.
I stress myself out
with my good intentions.
I carry this load;
it's becoming my undoing
as I set my standards
higher than I can attain.

Take this burden from me.
Help me carry it,
shoulder it,
set it down when required.
Give me the strength,
the stamina,
the endurance
to see this through,
to carry it until it is finished.

The centre of the storm

2007-01-05T19:19:00.000Z

In the centre of the storm,
as the world crashes around,
there's a silent space,
a quiet, calm place.

When all around is chaos,
and threatens to lift me from the ground,
I find Your face,
I feel Your grace.

You call my name,
You reach out your hand.
Secure in Your embrace
in that quiet space.

The world still rages,
but You surround me
in this safe place,
with Your embrace.

No easy life

2007-01-03T07:53:00.000Z

If you're looking for an easy life,
turn right around now, honey.
If you dream of a future drama-free,
don't look at me.
If you want a Stepford Wife,
don't be wasting my time.
If you think your every wish should be obeyed:
hire a maid.

But, if you want a wife who's loyal,
look no further.
If you're looking for the one who'll
stand by you, fight alongside you,
here I am.
If you want a wife who'll
love you with passion,
with every fibre of herself,
why not see if I could be
that one.
If you need someone who'll
be your soul mate, helpmeet,
cheerleader, biggest fan,
nurse, cousellor,
sparring partner;
who'll challenge you,
inspire you on to greater things;
who'll encourage your faith,
your strengths, your talents,
who'll complement your weaknesses;
who'll be by your side
in sickness and health,
whether you're rich or poor,
in good times and bad times,
don't dismiss me,
don't pass me by.
Don't think that I
can't be that one,
don't pre-judge me.
Don't think you know me
without knowing
if I could be
part of this relationship of three:
God and you and me.

But if you're looking for
that easy life,
keep on walking by.

Meet me

2007-01-01T12:49:00.000Z

Meet me where I am,
with my wants and needs
tangled together.
Meet me where I can
be myself,
open my heart to You,
let You know my deepest desires,
that You already know.
Meet me at the place
where I have put You,
displaced You from
the pedestal You should be on,
brushed aside
and replaced by sons of Adam.
Your creation
disposing You
from Your rightful place
to meet my needs,
fulfil my desires,
make my dreams come true.

Help me to pull them down
from the place I've put them,
where they cannot
live up to the expectations
I have placed upon them.
Take their place:
Your rightful place.
Meet me in that place
where my needs and wants
are placed
at the foot of a cross,
surrendered to You.
Meet me there.
Take my hand.
Fill the empty spaces
in my heart.

Let go

2006-12-30T23:44:00.000Z

Let go
of the need to control.
Let go
of the need to know
what the future holds.
Let go
of desires
that remain unfulfilled,
promises
that will not be.
Let go
of my needs,
my desires,
my control.
Hand it over.

Let go of the man
who can't complete me,
of the woman
who can't be my best friend,
of the children
who can't give me purpose,
of the job
that won't fulfil me,
of the dreams
that won't be realised.

Hold on
to the hand
of the Father,
the love
of the Son,
the promise
of the Spirit.
The One who can
complete me,
be my best friend,
my beloved,
my father,
my brother.
Who will fulfil me,
give me purpose,
make dreams be realised.

Surrender.
Let it all go
into His hands.

Shatterproof

2006-12-28T21:27:00.000Z

I shatter,
like glass.
A single blow
causing cascading cracks,
to run through me,
deepening,
widening,
becoming greater.
But I don't split,
crumble,
fall apart completely.
I'm shatterproof.
A central core
holds the shattered parts of me
together.
Keeps me whole
in my brokenness.
Held together in this way
there is beauty in my frailty,
in being shattered and cracked.
There is a strength
inside me,
beneath me,
above me,
beside me,
that stops me from crashing
into millions of pieces,
breaking apart completely.
I'm shatterproof
in Him.

Honest

2006-12-20T08:15:00.000Z

I want you to see
who I am,
faults and all.
I want you to know
what I'm about,
when I'm riding high,
or when I fall.
I want you to understand
what motivates me,
what makes me sing,
makes me laugh,
cry and dance.
I don't want you to say
I gave you
a false impression,
that you didn't know.
I open myself up to you,
fully exposed,
all of me on display.
I risk rejection
of your friendship,
acceptance,
love.
To put on an act,
to pretend to be
more holy,
more confident,
happier,
healthier,
would be to deny myself
and trick you.
I want a genuine
friendship,
for you to accept me
for who I am.
So, I want to be honest
with you
about who I am.

Open doors

2006-12-19T23:17:00.000Z

Open doors
for those who have
no where to go.
Open arms
for those who are lonely,
need comfort.
Open hearts
for those who are lost,
hurting,
bruised and battered by life,
scraping by.

A welcome table,
a cup of tea,
a biscuit.
A cosy chair:
space to be,
a place to belong.
A listening ear
to hearts poured out,
troubles shared,
burdens carried for a time.

The beast

2006-12-19T23:13:00.000Z

Don't awaken the beast
of desire
before it is ready.
Don't stir it up,
don't encourage it.
For to return it to its lair
is no mean feat.
To subdue it,
repress it
once it is loose
is like
trying to tame a lion,
or squeezing an elephant
in a rabbit hutch.

So stop it.
Cut it off at the pass,
don't give it a chance,
don't let it get a hold
on your heart.
Unless you know
it will be reciprocated.
For if it is not,
it will tear your heart apart
whilst you wait
for it to subdue,
and return
to its sleeping state.

Lust

2006-12-14T22:49:00.000Z

I degrade you with my mind.
Split you into pieces
that arouse and stimulate me.
Divorce you from yourself,
inside my head.
To me you become
soulful eyes,
a soothing voice,
a handsome face,
strong arms to hold me
in my fantasy.
I don't have permission,
but still I do this,
feeding my arousal
in you presence,
stealing from you
something you do not give.
I reduce you
to the sum of your parts,
and in that
reduce myself,
feeling dirty,
sordid and sleazy

Abyss

2006-12-12T22:16:00.000Z

Fingernails clutching
to the edge of the cliff
of my sanity,
my reason,
my confidence.
The abyss below
calling to me
to let go,
to fall,
down,
down,
down
into the inky blackness,
let the comforting darkness
enfold me,
embrace me to itself.
Let me lose myself,
drown in the depths.
Let it cover me
with false comfort,
wrap itself around me,
drawing me deeper
until I can no longer return
to the light
by myself.

Air, bread, life

2006-12-12T21:30:00.001Z

The air I breathe,
He supplies.
He is
my life support,
my daily bread,
keeps me going.
Can't do it on my own,
without Him.

Weapon of choice

2006-12-12T13:38:00.000Z

My weapon of choice,
dressed to the nines,
war paint on.
A preemptive strike.
Confidence
behind a suit of armour
of a different kind.
Look good on the outside:
can't bring me
crashing down.
A mask of make up
covers nervousness,
anticipation of bad news,
accusation,
rejection.
Building an ice queen
who can roll with the punches,
get up and walk away,
head held high,
not broken.

Commuter Christian

2006-12-12T13:25:00.000Z

Don't want to be a
commuter Christian,
drifting in and out
on Sunday,
no stake in the community.
Need to be part of its life,
where mission impacts me
directly.
I want to see
the fruit of God's work
grow before my eyes.
I want to see
the work of my hands
reap the harvest
in my street.
I want to see
God's Kingdom come
to those I walk with
daily.
I want to be there,
in the midst of it all,
seeing transformation,
changed lives
all around me,
surrounding me
when I step out of my front door.

Hurt yourself

2006-12-11T12:59:00.000Z

You hurt yourself when you're near him,
yet can't seem to keep away.
Masochism dictates you stay.
He smiles,
and twists a knife in your heart.
You pull back, build a distance,
leave him be.
And then he comes
with the hand of friendship.
So much.
But not enough.
How do you make a way through
the turmoil of your emotions,
knowing every time you see him
you hurt yourself,
haunted by his voice
echoing in your head.
Attracted,
yet pulling away
to save yourself.
A conflict of epic proportions
magnified each time you see him.
You give him up, let him go
until he's there,
in your face,
in your head,
in your heart,
and you can't.
You want to chase,
yet know you can't.
You can only sit and wait
and hope.
Gotta give up the need
before you hurt yourself to death
of hope and joy.
Gotta stop hurting yourself.

Holy, holy Almighty One

2006-12-05T13:46:00.000Z

Have faith in the God who can be trusted
Have faith in the God who is King
Hope in the Lord who will not forget you
Hope in the One of whom the angels sing

Holy, holy Almighty One
Glory, honour, praise
Name above all other names
The One who came to save

Worship the God who created all things
Worship the God who deserves our praise
Trust in the Lord who is always there
Trust in the Lord who will never fail

Holy, holy Almighty One
Glory, honour, praise
Name above all other names
The One who came to save

Do not be afraid
Do not be downcast
Do not set you hopes
on things that will not last

For the Lord will not forsake you
He will never hid His face
The Lord will never fail you
He will never withdraw His grace

Holy, holy Almighty One
Glory, honour, praise
Name above all other names
The One who came to save

Way out

2006-12-03T21:40:00.000Z

You know my weaknesses.
You know the lures
that will tempt me away.
Provide me with the way out.
Provide me with the strength,
the discipline,
to turn away
from the false and empty promises
dangling in my path.

Safe words

2006-12-03T21:33:00.000Z

When words can't be said,
when things cannot be shared,
when I cannot face you
and say what I want to say,
I'll write it instead.

When I turn away
stuttering,
embarrassed,
glowing a bright shade of red,
paper gives me a way out
from the turmoil.

When my foot enters my mouth,
when I listen in horror
to what flows out,
I turn to text
to repair the damage,
a safe place to say
what I was trying to say.

When my brain engages
after I've spoken,
I recoil in shame,
kicking myself
and withdraw to the safety
of the written word
to say what I really meant.

Who am I

2006-12-03T20:50:00.000Z

Who am I
to be saved by grace?
Who am I
to be clothed in a righteousness
I do not deserve?
Who am I
to be forgiven?
Who am I
to be treated like a bride in white,
a queen amongst royalty,
a precious princess?
Who am I?
A child of God.

Concrete

2006-12-03T18:24:00.000Z

Can't take it any more
Can't fake it much longer
Being with you
tears out my heart
Seeing you
rips me apart
Strength is gone

I wrap my heart in concrete
I don't want to feel a thing
Just want to run away and hide
and sleep it all away
wake up another day
in another place
away from here

I barricade myself
behind stony emotions
can't get too close
hold you at a distance from me
Don't want you to see
my heart laid bare
my hopes aired
the tragedy of despair

Caught up in the spiral
downwards
Knowing it's all a trick
to keep my focus away from
what I should be doing
But it's hurting anyway

So I wrap my heart in concrete
pull away from attraction
Run away and hide
behind my frozen smile
and stony eyes

Complete

2006-11-29T00:11:00.000Z

You can't complete me.
Mind the gap you'll never fill.
You won't release me
from chains that seek to kill
my self esteem.

You'll never be able
to make me whole.
You're only capable
of a role
of companionship.

You can support,
but not carry.
Hold, but not drag.
I have to walk this path alone.

You can love me,
but not save me
from myself.

Only He can complete me.
Only He can fill the emptiness.
Only He can save me,
redeem me,
restore me to new.
Only He can make me able
to love me,
to love you.
I'm only complete in Him.

Just Like You

2006-11-07T19:04:00.000Z

If you cut me
I will bleed:
just like you.

If you hit me
I will bruise,
black and blue:
just like you.

If you kick me
my bones
will break and snap,
twist and wrench:
just like yours.

If you crush my heart
I will give up life
and breath,
and surely die:
as you would do.

Just because

2006-11-07T10:43:00.000Z

Just because I'm young
does not mean I have no experience.

Just because I'm a woman
does not mean I do not have a voice,
or something relevant to say.

Just because of where I've come from
does not mean I've never been anywhere else,
or only know one way to do things.

Just because I have something to say
does not mean I do not know how to listen,
does not mean I want it all my way,
does not mean I do not know
how to sacrifice my wants for the greater good.

Just because I'm new
does not mean my opinion is not valid.

Just because I question you
does not mean I don't want to support you,
does not mean I want to change you.

Just because you don't like what I say
does not mean I'm wrong.

Just because I'm not negative,
and want to find a way forward
does not mean I should be ignored.

Just because I'm not you
does not mean that God will not use me,
speak through me.

Just because you hurt me,
just because I find it hard to like you,
does not mean that God doesn't love you,
does not mean that I should not love you.

Just because of who I am
is the reason why God loves me.
And why He loves you.

Sexuality abuse

2006-11-07T00:33:00.000Z

Sell your virginity
to the lowest bidder:
give it away
just to get rid of it.
Useless, of no value
in this world today.

Sell your modesty
for the price of a touch,
a warm body close to yours
for a short moment.
Feeling alive in your skin,
after feeling dead,
cold, for so long.

Sell your pride
to feed a longing
to be wanted, desired,
needed.
To give pleasure,
to make him want more,
so he'll come back to you.

Sold out to the message
that sex sells;
the only way to keep your man.

Gave yourself
to one you thought
was for keeps.
Mistaken,
caught up in the moment
of a brush with death,
breaking through the boundaries.
Gave your all
for one you fell for.

Sell out your soul
to the one who knows
how to twist your desires
and insecurities;
who knows how
to turn you away from
the One who loves.
Sends you running into arms
of false comfort,
broken dreams
leaving broken hearts
that only He can mend.

Give your heart,
your mind, your body,
back to the One
who can mend them.
Takes them,
patches them,
sets you free from the guilt,
the shame,
the brokenness.
Makes you as good as new.

In the name of love

2006-11-06T23:41:00.000Z

Bleeding.
Torn apart,
ripped to sheds,
left to stumble,
crawl through tears
to a place to crumble,
a place to hide,
shelter from the vicious words
said
in the so-called name
of love.

Who are we,
these so-named followers
of a God who gave up all He was,
is and will be,
for us,
that we might pour out poison,
fire arrows of spite
and bitterness
at one another?

Who are we
but broken people,
daring to judge others
by standards
so far above
those we set for ourselves.

A body,
tearing itself to pieces,
pulling,
breaking,
crushing spirits.

Run. Run into His arms.
He will hold you safe,
loved beyond all measure.
He will take those arrows
from the wounds.
He will give the antidote
to the poison.
His love will soothe
the wounded.
His name will
send the hatred,
the fear and self-doubt
fleeing back
to where it belongs.

Radio silence

2006-10-24T20:58:00.000+01:00

You may have noticed a decided lack of poetry. Slightly annoying.

I think that it means that I don't have enough angst to write! So that's a good thing!

Don't know

2006-09-22T13:40:00.000+01:00

I know I cannot trust myself
to know what’s best for me.
I don’t know how to hear You:
my ears don’t work so well.
An angel and a devil
sit upon my shoulders.
Whispered words,
twisted words.
Don’t know where they’re coming from.
I thought I’d heard You clearly,
thought I knew what I should do.
I thought You’d answered a prayer for me.
Confused,
muddled by doubt in myself
to hear You again.
How can I know where I’m going
if I can’t hear the instructions,
cannot see the way.
It’s all out of my control,
I don’t know where I’m going.
And it scares me
not knowing,
not seeing the way.

Seeing clearer

2006-09-20T22:35:00.000+01:00

Starting to see
that I've turned a corner.
The path I wanted to take
was full of trials,
and would have brought me struggles,
could not have made me happy.
Fog lifting before my eyes.
Seeing clearer now
that I was blinded by myself,
my thoughts, wants, desires,
hopes and dreams.
Seeing clearer now.

Forgiveness

2006-09-18T21:44:00.000+01:00

Forgiveness.
Unearnable:
a sacrifice by the one who forgives.
A humbling of the one
who seeks.
Forgiveness costs all that we have:
to pardon the unpardonable,
to forgive the unforgiveable,
to not take revenge over the betrayal.
Forgiveness takes away our pride.
Forgiveness disallows our self-pity:
we cannot wallow if we have forgiven.
Forgiveness takes more than just our strength.
Forgiveness is more than a feeling:
our bitterness may linger on.
Forgiveness is a choice we make,
a decision that requires us to be
generous to the one that has hurt us,
pained us to our core.
Forgiveness is a process,
requires time to bring the healing.
Forgiveness does not require us to forget,
does not mean that the will not be consequences,
does not tell us we have to recklessly trust
without cause.
But forgiveness means to choose
not to hold the past
over the head of another,
like a ten-ton weight
poised for the fall
when another slight,
another crime of hurt
is committed.
Unforgiveness allows another
to take up our thoughts,
living rent-free
in the space in our heads.
Unforgiveness does not allow us to heal.
It spoils all our relationships,
prevents them from being fulfilling.
It makes us bitter and cold.
Forgiveness releases us from the grip
of our self-pity and revenge,
and lets us live freely again.

2006-09-17T22:00:00.000+01:00

Stormy night

2006-09-14T23:30:00.000+01:00

Lightning flashes,
illuminating the sky.
Thunder crashes,
and rolls around overhead.
Rain wakes me,
lashing down,
a persistent tattoo.
I snuggle more tightly in my bed.

Rebounding

2006-09-10T22:19:00.000+01:00

Rebounding.
Trying to control
the uncontrollable.
Bouncing from place to place,
space to space,
looking for something,
anything.
Wanting to replace
the pain, the confusion,
the hurt,
with another face,
another set
of strong arms around me.
Something to take the place
of the emptiness
that's inside me now.

But knowing that I cannot.
Knowing that
to fill the space
would only be a temporary thing,
like a sticking plaster
on a broken leg.
It won't do the job,
heal the wound.
It won't make me strong.
It will only hurt me more.
And hurt the other.

I can't do that.
Must keep my head,
ignore the feelings
going through my head.
Must be strong,
can't do the wrong thing.

So as I rebound
I must see the arms
of the One who loves
holding out to me.
Waiting for me to stop,
take my finger off self-destruct,
and come to Him
for what I need.

Strong arms

2006-09-09T23:53:00.000+01:00

I had a dream
of strong arms around me.
Holding me up
when I could not stand alone.
Holding me together
when I fall apart.
Holding me close
when I want to let go
and run, run, run.
Holding me tight
when I need to feel loved.
Holding me,
side-by-side,
when we face the world together.