(unconditional.)

my whole life, I have come to altars, in awe of the feeling of love:

its gentle strength,

its profound simplicities,

and its ability to cover

what I considered my Multitude of Sins.

but recently, I have discovered

that nothing will bring you to your knees

like the first time you realize you are loved,

not in spite of yourself,

but rather, because of it.

(reflections, on love.)

there must be different kinds of love

for the different seasons of our life

(or perhaps,

for the different people

we become

as time

revises

what is written on our hearts).

while some may seek

ocean waves,

crashing against the shores of their souls,

it is a mistake

to underestimate

the quiet streams

that can quench a thirst

you did not know you had.

(I certainly wouldn’t want to offend you)

 your name in my mouth tastes bad
(like bile
and regret)
and your hand on my shoulder stings
like a slap in the face
(and I’ve enough experience with all these
to understand
exactly
what I am comparing you to)
and, no
I am not being dramatic.

If I were, I’d tell you that
even your kindness
is saccharine,
a cancer
that invades my brain
and makes me think things
and feel things
that I am too smart to think and feel,
and then
I’d point out that your voice makes me cringe
and consider 
ripping out my eardrums
to stop the sound
that you
are so
enamored
with.


So
in honor of not being dramatic,
read the first words
and forget 
the rest.

(parking lot poetry)

I pulled over in a parking lot

to frantically search for a pen

to write down a story

about the things

that make me remember

how much

I

love

you

when I realized I was at a church

and I smiled

and I thought

how perfectly, poetically

that describes

me and you.

You

have always led me back to God:

by the faith in your eyes,

the grace in your smile,

and the quiet strength that only comes

from holding Christ in you heart...

And,

of course,

in the way you laugh

when you say you love that I swear like a sailor

(just like you)

but still scold me

every time I say,

“goddamn.”

(car/crash)

I almost wrapped my car around a tree

because of a stop sign I did not see

because I was thinking about how there are so many things that I would hate

if I didn’t love them instead 

for reminding me of you.

And as my legs shook from shock

of how quickly I stopped

(the way they used to shake,

when they were wrapped 

around you),

I smiled and thought:

though I hope I don’t go anywhere

for a very

very

very

long time,

what better way to go

then happy,

if only by way of remembering

how happy

you

made

me.

(sometimes, I like to pretend that I am pretty tough.)

I will never forget the sincere shock in your eyes
when you saw through my charade
when your hand stopped on my shoulder
and I
blushed.
                                  

(an unlikely sanctuary.)

I have come to the conclusion
that the key to life
is knowing the difference
between
the kind of pain that requires
silence, 
solitude, 
locked doors,
and the kind that can be cured
by heavy metal,
hot pink running crops,
and the sound of your own heavy breathing.

(hope.)

tonight I pray

twin prayers,

two sides, one coin:

with gratitude, for a feeling I’d forgotten

and a desperate need

for it not to prove false.

(washed away.)

I will never understand why people run from rain.

No mistaking, there is much about sunshine worth loving:

The way it warms you, skin to soul,

the way heat hits you hard and life becomes light

and it feels easy,

like it might last... forever.

But the feeling

of a summer sky that cracks opens and pours out and pounds down,

The feeling when water hits skin so hot it seems like it should steam,

and that heady haze of heat lifts

and suddenly you can see clearly,

and you can feel everything at once:

each drop a reminder that you are alive.

If I’m lucky, I can feel the thunder in my chest

An Amazing Grace, the sweetest sound,

that somehow, helps me see, and I think,

“this, is what it feels like to be born again”

baptized by a moment, 
when moments before, I was unaware that my soul still needed saved.

I have been lucky that I can hear God in storms,

and my heart finds gratitude for the lightning

that was often my only chance to see my way,

but I wonder if that has taught me to love

differently than I should,

that maybe I, too, would run

if I could somehow see God in the sun

the way I feel Him                                                                            

in the rain.

(lovepoem.)

You said you felt like you

should write a love poem,

for me,

to return the favor

and I laughed

because, 

to me,

it feels like every word I’ve ever written about love

came first

from you.

(there should be a Big Science Award for your ability to turn happiness, tangible.)

there is so much

about the way you feel

that I love

but:

my favorite will always be

the way I can feel your lips turn up

on mine

and I can feel you smile

as you kiss me.

(tangled.)

You remind me

of the way necklaces used to get tangled

in my grandmother’s jewelry box,

and how, even still, when I am sad

I go through them piece by piece:

sifting through her memories,

untangling the mess,

remembering the stories about each, and what they meant to her.

I do not have many necklaces, but I have a lot of words, and they are always tangled around you.

                                           

(short/sweet)

I always feel like I need an excess of words

to express my feelings

when really,

all I need to say

is that your smile

makes me feel more

than my own.

(f-bomb.)

I resent the implication that the reason I’m a Feminist

is because

once upon a time

a man lashed out at me in anger,

As if being beaten into a corner

and permanently pushed against a wall

is the only way

a little girl’s spine

could grow up

straight and tall.

And those boys that broke my heart?

They did not contribute

to my conclusion

that I am worth

something,

that I deserve

something

more

than a second-hand last name                   

and a hitch

to a wagon

that would never really be mine.

You might want to get comfortable;

Because I

am not done.

And I yes, I can see you squirm

And yes, I know it's because

Feminist

is a dirty word

And it makes you uncomfortable

And I am so terribly

not

sorry.

And now

it is time to get back to the subject

of the things that I resent:

I resent that you assume that I am kind

because I’m a girl,

or nurturing because of Nature,

or forgiving because I am of the “weaker sex.”

I resent

that you think I am these lovely things

because I am a “good woman”

instead of being because

I am a decent 

human being.

And!

For the record:

I am not strong “for a girl”

I am strong.

And I am not smart “for a girl”

I am smart.

And I realized that I would have to be both

if I wanted to survive.

And when I dropped that other F-word in your direction

(the one that ladies are not supposed to use)

it was not because a Feminist heart

can’t handle Feelings

but because

my Feminist heart

knows I deserve better.

But perhaps

even more than I resent you and your assumptions

about me

and what being a Feminist might mean

I am surprised by a world that assumes

that I couldn’t

or wouldn’t

love a man

who could find it in his heart

to love

without needing me

...to give up pieces of myself

     (to make room for his ego)

...to forsake my dreams

     (to help chase his)

...or change my name

     (so I never forget

     this is all on his terms).

(identity crisis)

I don’t know how to be this person

I have so clearly become.

I don’t know when it happened,

but somewhere between the other broken dreams,

new ones crept through the cracks and I can’t tell if they’re flowers

or weeds,

But they’re here, and they will not be ignored—

their fragrance is strong, and I’ll admit,

they seem lovely.

           

I don’t know how to reconcile

this apparent part of me

with the parts I understand,

the parts that make sense,

the parts I... love.

Because I have spent my lifetime

(so far)

enjoying independence

and powerfully protecting the sweet solitude

that defined me and my future.

So, imagine my surprise

when I pause to fantasize about twin coffee cups,

and a bed turned down on both sides.

And nevermind that there are times that my life let that happen;

those were different:

I was blindsided, caught of guard,

by Very Specific Someones

(and often annoyed by their interruption)

Where now, I am compelled by an acute awareness of a specific silence in my life.

I don’t know how to be this person

and I don’t know if I want to learn,

but it seems I have to, because for better or worse,

I am this person.

I just can’t get control of my crazybrain

because I can’t find the words to explain

to myself 
how, or why, or when

I came to want…something

I can’t even say.

(I don’t know how to be someone

who needs something

so dependent

on someone

else)

(...I don't even like poker, anyway)

I wear my heart on my sleeve

because that is the only place it fits.

In my chest, it fills so fast that I think I might burst;

and I’ve learned

(the hard way)

that ticking time bomb is a nasty force to be reckoned with.

I know I’m supposed to play close to the chest,

so the world can’t see the hand I hold

but I?

I don’t have a poker face.

Sunglasses wouldn’t help

and a hat can’t hide hurt 
or hope                                           

when they’re in my eyes.

Because when I love, I don’t have to shout from rooftops

because the sound of my smile is a Jericho trumpet,

crumbling any walls that try to hold in my heart,

And my eyes rain a sea of surprise

because I can never believe its possible

to love so much.

And when I’m happy?

when

I.

am.

happy.

everything I touch turns electric!

and I grow wings that carry me far above this world

to a place where no one can touch me,

and so I sit on clouds and bask in the warmth of perfect joy.

But please believe,

that when I’m angry

you can see the vitriol course through my veins

and feel the heat from my skin as my blood boils

and I shake

and rake

the subject of my hate

over the coals of my mind

without regret

or second thought...

It has been brought to my attention

that I should be less emotional,

but that would require me to be less

and I’ve been down that road and I didn’t care for the scenery:

the trees had no leaves

and the flowers were dead.

So thank you kindly for your opinion

But if you don’t like my words, you don’t have to read them.

(i keep calling it a "do-over," but i'm pretty sure the technical term is "Grace.")

We need to talk

Like… really talk.

Which feels weird to say because

rumor has it,

You already know what I’m going to say before I say it

or think it

or even feel it

(that’s super creepy, by the way

and I’m not sure I like it much)

But I’ve been trying to shake this feeling, and I can’t

so...

we need to talk:

I’m not trying to pick a fight, but seriously,

what the fuck is Your problem.

Wait. Let me start over

Can I start over?

thank You.

for the do-over here and now

but also, for the other stuff, too;

that stuff i’ve been fighting

since i was the little girl who cried in the corner,

not because the world was scary

but because her 5-year-old brain couldn’t figure out how to fix it.

thank You for a heart so big

it can hold a lot of hate

and thank you for the dark days

that emptied it of every thing

every thought

every feeling

so it could be refilled with love;

i can finally see the difference in me

when i let what i once considered my biggest flaw

become my superpower.

thank You for giving me a heart

that can love a place

a song

a memory

with enough passion that i barely feel a void

when people leave or let me down;

a heart that has found a way to turn friends into family,

make sisters and brothers of strangers,

and parents of people that will never be “kin.”

thank You for breaking my heart

and building it back stronger, yet softer,

the way only scar tissue can be;

looking back, i can see                                 

the shell around it would have never dissolved on its own

and though it breaks easily,

thank You for letting it break for the things that break Yours

and allowing compassion

to fill the cracks that might never go away.

thank you

for changing my heart,

for filling it with gratitude;

it dilutes the fear and uncertainty

and makes them less bitter

and has allowed me to taste

how sweet it is to have something i’m afraid to lose.

thank You

for a heart so big it can feel You hold my hand

in the moments where i open my heart 

to You.

i’ve never been brave

so please, grant me the courage

to continue to be grateful

(though my mistakes may never feel less shameful).

so,

i guess what i needed to say all along

was thank you for the do-over

and all the second chances You’ve given my heart.