Attached

These days
I'm starting to notice
these threads following me
strings that connect
me to all the things
I could swear I didn't need
or ever want.
Yet every time I turn around
they are there
and I walk their line
back to what they're tied.
I never thought I'd become
so caught
in worry
so tied
to distress
so connected
to strife.
Honestly I never thought
I could ever be so
attached.

Night (Yet another poem about it)

I find solace
in cool winter nights
the dark unlimited sky
the stark air
seeping through the window
that brings with it goosebumps
and shivers down your spine.
Everything seems to have stopped
in the world around you
but for the rising of your chest
warm in your sweater
comfortable in your nook.
Night brings with it a promise
today is done,
and any mistakes of yesterday
can be washed away
with a fresh coat of snow.

Pieces

I promised you everything
that night that you told me
that I belonged to you
that I am yours.
I wanted it so badly
to simply belong to someone
but foryou to want me
that is beyond
what I could ever dare to dream.
So I promised you everything
that night.
I would give myself to you
every single piece.
But I was so broken,
so shattered
and there was nothing
I could ever do
to pull myself back together.
Even now I find
little pieces
lost in the fall
that still aren't yours.
All I can do
is give them back to you
and let your hands
continue to mend me.

Pen in Hand

I tried to write you a letter
the pen there in my hand
full of the ink of written words
and the blank paper before me
ready to receive my strokes
of a message I had no intent to send,
I realized that I have nothing to say.
Not anymore.
No words are left to describe
my exasperation that you're still here.
It's as if you've crept under my skin:
everything reminds me of you
and my mistakes.
Did you even have an afterthought?
And now I resign with pen in hand
and blank paper in front.
There are some things you will never know.
What's been engraved on the tablet
of my mind with your picture beside it.
And I,
I will never understand where such logic
as great as yours even
turned into the nonsensical events
that led me here staring at this blank paper
pen in hand.

Panic's Bite

It's that feeling
the one you may only know
from time to time,
a big test today,
a meeting with your boss,
a first date.
That little flutter in your stomach
perspiration on your brow
catch in your breath,
yes you know
nervousness.
but what you don't know
is his cousin, Panic
Panic has a bite to him
That sharp inhale
that stabs your lungs.
That sends your inside
into cartwheels
over and over and over.
And your heart wants to run away
as beats beats beats faster and faster
right out of your chest and into your ears.
and your palms are freezing
and wet.
And you can't seem to shake
the shakes that intrude your body.
You can't escape that deep desire
to run as fast as your feet will carry.
And you wait,
panic pins you down
and you wait
for the world to fall a part around you
but everyone's face is serene
because nothing is wrong.

Storm this morning

Do you feel it?
Look outside,
see the way that willow
is swaying in the wind?
Close your eyes.
Now imagine the breeze
is warm and moist
like an ocean breeze.
Like a tropical storm
is about to blow over us.
It's coming to refresh
not to chill.
Can't you hear it's woo
and moan like a song
calling to us
to wake up today
and be refreshed.
Be cleaned by its downpour
be made anew.

Nothingness

How do you feel?
no answer.
How do I explain
this feeling
devoid of emotion.
It's not as if
I don't hurt at times;
I've felt the stabs
of regret,
the blows
of remorse.
I felt the sunny days
warm my skin
and tend to my wounds
the refreshing wave
of a smile.
But now it's neither.
It's not a gray empty feeling.
I'm just floating
in nothingness space.

not-so-quiet evening

Ssshhh...
Do you hear it?
All the little sounds
of the world outside of you.
The child bouncing a ball
on the floor above.
The muffled sound
of footsteps on carpet.
The distant laughter.
The howl of the wind.
Do you hear it?
Do you know that your silence
leaves no absence
unfilled here?
The rain will drown
you out tonight
with its constant
drip drip drip.

Rainy Afternoon

The rain has come
for a visit.
It's unexpected
but not unwelcome.
It makes for a good excuse
to sit cozy inside
and work on a mountain
of things that eat away my time.
The rain is good company.
With it's constant babble,
it doesn't let the conversation
dissipate very often.
We share tea together
and talk of other visits
we've had.
I'm reminded of summer's leaving
and I feel a tinge of loss
that our love was breif as always
and winter seems to stay so long.
Though I know summer will always
come back.
The rain understands.
and reminds me also
of other visits we've had together.
The days spend inside and dry and bored.
Or the ones spent soaking wet.
The rain is in a mellow mood today.
Sometimes it can get angry
and storm in upturning everything
or come hard and fast
making everything dear float away.
Showing us what's really important.
But today rain simply wants
to come for tea,
and have a moment of my time.

Reflecting

I stumbled upon a slight bit
of the past I call my own today.
looking back I see what my naive
young eyes and heart were blind to.
It is so strange to think
that I thought myself mature
I thought myself wise
I thought myself unbreakable.
But that was then.
And now?
I am not wise
nor mature
nor unbreakable.
I am still a child in my own eyes
steeped in folly
and oh so fragile.
It is only now that I see
things for what they really were
the wolf disguised as my dear granny
and me standing
wise staring with my basket of goodies.

Oh Brother

You probably think I don't love you
because I didn't go with you
to the emergency room again.
I know it's a poor excuse
but you would've done the same.
I'm sorry you think I'm mean
probably a bad sister
but I honestly try.
I'm sorry I can't heal you
if I could fix it
I would.
but you see
you're so blind.
There's a doctor standing
right in front of you
smiling at you
calling your name
your whole life
all He's ever wanted
is to hear from you
but you've been so blind
refusing to come into the light.
Though I don't your heart
and all that lies within
I do know this
it's not too much
for one man to bare
with his arms stretched wide.

like dandelion dust

Do you ever feel
like dandelion dust?
Like everything you once knew
and held on to
is so far away.
And the winds of life
are blowing you place to place.
Like this is just the beginning
of some adventure.
And you can't wait to land
to be planted.
Like you're ready to bloom into
something beautiful.
And you're still enjoying the breeze
that you're floating upon
because you don't know
where it's taking you
but you know
it's where you're meant to be.

From the Porch

It's that time of year again;
it's sort of magic to feel
the energy tingling in the air
as it hangs humid around you.
Even breathing can be slightly more difficult
but it's worth it
to sit out on the safety of your porch
watching the trees shake in the occaisonal breeze
and the bugs dance around the street lights.
Deep in your bones you know
at any moment everything will snap
and break into an explosion
of light and sound and rain.
The dark street illuminated
for split seconds as if the sun had returned
then vanished again like that
slaming the door to the heavens behind
and letting the sky break open and pour out
everything it had held in for so long.

Only Time Will Tell

It is so peculiar
to me
how much can change
in just so little time.
The grass was covered in snow
not so long ago to recall.
Then all of a sudden it turned green
and began to grow in the warmed air
nourished by the constant rain.
It seems just yesterday
the dandelions arrived
and took over the boulevard.
So that if you look at it just so
it's completely yellow;
as if to suggest
that if you were to follow it,
you'd be led away to Emerald City.
Perhaps over time
that boulevard
covered in dandelions now
will one day lead me
out of this town
and onto my own brick road
to some foreign Emerald city.
Only time will tell.

Rain

I am so sick of rain.
It has been more than a week
of pouring and sprinkling
water from the sky.
The clouds are dark and dreary
angry with everyone
as if we all betrayed them.
The rivers are swollen,
threatening to burst
right over their banks.
And I am either miserable inside
or wet and miserable outside.
But there is hope.
I am reminded by the greeness
of the grass
and the buds on the tress
that if it never rained--
if it was never dreary
or cold and wet
then nothing would ever grow
and the sun would not feel so good.

Almost

I thought I saw your car today
in the parking lot.
I thought we might
run into each other
But it is a big store
and it might not have been
your car.
I think about it all the time
what would happen if
we saw each other again
as if nothing was different
and it was just another trip
to walmart.
But even the thought of it
scared me... thrilled me enough
that I wandered into all the departments
and I swear that I almost thought
I caught a glimpse
of the back of your head
as you turned the corner
into another aisle.
but it was by chance that
when I followed you disappeared.

home

It is strange to think
that relief should be washing over me,
that I should feel safe,
enclosed in these walls,
but more than anything I feel trapped.
It is so odd that the way the familiar
can comfort
or it can torture.
And asI sit here in this house,
I feel so very far from home.

Beginning of Spring

It takes the real warmth
from the bright sun
to remind us that nothing
can last forever.
That winter will always
melt away with its snow
and that underneath
a suffocating blanket
there are things
ready to come to grow again
It is when all seems lost,
when the world
seems to be ending
that the sun comes out
and warms us with rays
of hope.

cold hands

His hands were cold
like ice,
giving me goosebumps
as they slid along
as they sunk deep
into me,
to all the places
that were never meant
to be touched
by hands that bend
and break.
Those hands froze me
like a stream in winter
stopping everything
from carrying on
as it should.
and all I could do
was wait for spring.

Second Chances

Sometimes it takes a mistake;
that voyage so far away
from everything dear and familiar:
comfortable. Away from love
to show us how much we need it.
And it takes us trying, scrambling
running around without our heads
to figure things out on our own.
It takes all the blunders
the days, nights, years
that we wish had never happened,
the wrong turn, u-turns, and bad maps
to help us figure out
that what we were looking for
what we were so desperate to try and find
all on our own,
was standing right there
with arms wide open.
And when we finally come home exhausted
from the wild goose chase
He's still standing there.
You see, He loves broken people
He loves holes, worn out things,
old things, unloved things
because He loves to gather them back
into His arms--even after they've run
and to give them a second chance.
He always forgive,
He always renews
He always hopes
He always restores
He always loves
and He always heals.

a look back

She liked to keep her heart
well protected, surrounded
by thick impenetrable walls
to keep it safe from the harm
it had already suffered.
But little did she know
she was pouring cyanide
down her throat and
she was destroying
the very thing she tried
so hard to protect.

Then one night not so long ago
a hand found a crack
and slipped in rescue
the barely beating heart
so corroded by the poison
she had let herself eat
for years never realizing
just how little was left.
And as soon as that hand touched
her struggling heart
everything that had been lost
was completely restored
and her walls crumbled that night.

After that she'd never be the same.

Need

I realized tonight
that the true essence
of this so-called
"Human condition"
is not that we are
so seperated from
each other that
we will never
understand one another
but that we forget
what really makes us
human is our need.
It's so easy to
let ourselves get caught
in the traps and brambles
of other distractions
or lost within ourselves
and we forget so easily
that what makes us
what we are
is this need for
perfect
unconditional
love.

* I know this is so cheezy but it's 4 in the morning give me a break

Soothe

Sometimes I find comfort
in the onset of night.
It soothes me
with its quiet darkness;
its cool cover
like a bandage
from the wounds of the day
that reminds me
nothing lasts forever.
That the sun rises and sets
"tomorrow, tomorrow..."
night whispers,
"shall be another day,
as for now,
it is time to rest."

to night

The sky is quiet tonight,
it hangs dark over the world
like a cool black sheet
only a sliver of the moon
shining upon the city below
illuminated by the millions
of small yellow lights.
Right now the night's silence
is strangely comforting
as its cool air slips through
the open window, ruffling curtains
and caressing my cheek.
Sometimes I need night,
I need a quiet friend
whose presence I can enjoy
without anything being said.

And Hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit whom He has given us.
Romans5:5

grey skies

Disappointment...
it is a word
and a feeling
that sits stirring with unrest
in the very pit of your stomach.
Maybe next time,
things will turn out just right.
Like this life is only a dress-rehersal
and tomorrow you'll wake up
with a fresh start.
Though in your heart you knew
all along that this was your only shot.
Perhaps it wasn't worth,
daring to have hope.
but it would've taken away
the dull ache of disappointment
but it also fades away joy
in the end it is hope that saves you.
Hope that perhaps tomorrow will bring
something better,
and that someone is looking after
our best interests even when we're not.

big girl

I really don't need you
or anyone to try and
take care of me.
I've been looking after myself
for such a long time
that I can't--
I can't let you in
I can't let myself melt
in your arms.
I have to be strong enough
to do everything on my own
otherwise who knows
what might happen to me.
So you can just go along
on your merry way,
don't give me another thought,
I'm a big girl.
I have been for a long time.

I just am

Somedays I do not know
why everything seems
to be a shade of gray.
I feel no colors on this day
not yellow,
nor green,
nor red,
nor magenta,
nor even blue:
just gray.
But if you asked me why
I could never explain
only shake my head and say
"I just am."

"Goal Setting"

Okay, so this is not a poem it's kind of a rant or maybe a thought, anyway it's my blog and my thoughts so I'll write whatever I want. So who remembers the first day of school in elementary, and even sometimes in high school. Your teacher would hand you some sort of paper and give you a half an hour and tell you to write down your goals for the year. I HATED this. I always have, and when for some reason I'm forced to do it again, I still hate doing this. First off, in grade school was there really that much going on in my life that I could set goals for myself? I think I wrote the same thing like every time "I want to do my homework earlier and work harder" total lie. Sure maybe the first week I would but after that I didn't care anymore, in fact as time went on I think I probably left things to the last minute even more than I did before I was forced to goal set every year. and I mean really? Teachers probably got like the same answers from every kid in their classes. Does this exercise even help later in life? I can't even think of a time when it's helpful. Apparently google thinks it is because when I tried to find links about it being stupid it only gave me links about how important goal setting is... but for what?
Suppose your goal is to get a better job. You research ways to buff up your resume; you bribe people to be better references for you; you search the classifieds and online for job listings... then you apply and hand out your resumes. A big part of this goal you can't really attain on your own because you don't actually decide if you get hired, so goal setting didn't really help you there.
Um... suppose your goal is to spend less money so you make it your goal to go shopping less. and then you "achieve" it by shopping less.
So what's my point? Is goal setting really that helpful, I mean most of these "goals" people set seem to just be putting common sense into practice. So if you're a teacher and you're reading this, unless you can give me 5 good reasons for goal setting, please stop torturing your kids on the first day of school.
This post was not really meant to be that persuasive but was meant more for me to publicly express my distaste towards "goal setting".

Unsaid

Sometimes it is not
the words of others lips
that hang stiff in the air
like the calm before
a thunderstorm,
but it is the words
that have not graced
anyone's lips.
Sometimes it is
the unsaid words
which echo over
and over
and over again
within the walls our heads
repeating what we know
but cannot bare to hear.
And although when they resound
out loud by those
we love and despise most,
at the same time,
we cringe as the hit our ears
like a strong slap on the cheek
we know they are sometimes
just what we need to hear.
but sometimes those words
are left unsaid.

Laundry

There is something
so comforting in the
simple chore of laundry.
Taking old, worn clothes
and washing them clean.
Ridding them of stains
wringing them out
and hanging them on a line
to dry with the swaying wind.
It's work for the hands
and the soul.
Then at twilight
returning to catch
the setting sun,
with it's own robes
of pinks and oranges
smile upon you
as you collect the clean
and fragrant articles
they seem almost new
as if a day of rest
and refreshing outside
was all they needed.

Sickening

The big blue 'H'
on the side of the tall
and wide, maze of a building
is warning enough
that when you step in
you feel at ill-ease.
The stench of death, disease
and stale urine lingers
under the odor of anti-septic
that matches the white walls.
All hope seems lost here:
with all the sick
and the suffering;
the nurses and needles.
But I remember that this
was the very place that I came
screaming into the world.
It is the place where so
many die but so many are also born.

Bruises

Some pain evaporates
with time and healing,
it sifts away
like sand
running through
the cracks
of a closed fist,
until it's just
like a bruise
that you remember
only when you touch
it or see the
deep colour
under the surface
of your skin.

Freedom

There's an unsaid line
that has the habbit
of playing in my mind
the reminder of our
inability to run from
everything.
Some things are anchors
that we drag behind us.
Heavy weights
we struggle against
but no matter how hard
we try or fast we run
they're chained to us.
Attached to our bones.
It's not always visible,
some people see it--
they look past the cringing
the gritted teeth,
the obvious exhaustion;
and they know what's there.
There is one who sees
who also holds a key.
And if you'll let him
get close enough
he'll unlock you
and eventually break the chains.
in the end
you'll be stronger with him
walking with you
than you could ever imagine
all those years
of dragging
and then the pure
freedom
of nothing holding
you back.

Bridge

In the middle
of the snow covered
and empty lake-bed--
drained in the winter
for the spring
overflow--
there's an old
support;foundation
for a bridge
that no longer exists
much like the one
that was burned
between us.
I see it in the winter
exposed, and protruding
out, a reminder
of what once was.
In the summer
I forget, it gets burried
under so much water
it becomes invisible
much like I tried
to make you.
The day I burned our
bridge.

Second Glance

I haven't the slightest clue
why I had this sudden urge
to pull out the x-ray
in front of my heart
and leave it exposed
for you to examine.
It's not like you'd
even take a second
glance.

To Do

Sleepless tonight
a hundred thoughts
stream across my mind.
I owe my friend money
I do not have.
My bike is still
rusting in the snow.
Homework is past due.
So much reading I'm
behind on.
I need a job later
I need a better
resume.
Maybe it's time to
surrender it all
into your hands and
finally get some
real sleep.

Light

The air might be cold,
but today the sun spoke
and whispered to me
that it knows for certain
winter cannot last.
And warmth began to fill me
from inside as I was reminded
that light is always stronger
than darkness; with that warmth
came utterly beautiful hope.

White

Can you tell me what
a flower looks like
I can scarcely remember
seeing them in the ground.
What does the warmth
of the sun on your face
feel like?
Or dipping into a cold
pool of water on a hot day.
Winter seems to erase
everything and replace
it with cold sterile white.

Dark

It is on
clear winter nights
such as these
that I remember
stepping out into the cold
--my breath, a vapor
visible in the air.
The chill of the night
caressing my cheeks--
to walk about
while other slept,
and think the deep thoughts
no one dared to dream.
I remember that winter well,
the cigarettes and my dog
the only warmth
I would feel until spring.
It's odd how we long
for pain sometimes...
I'll never be able to explain
why on nights like this
I wish I could go back
and live in the dark
for one more night.

Still Winter

The laundry is done
and hanging in the room.
It smells like spring
like my backyard
with sunshine on my face.
But today is cloudy
and I still see
the mounds of snow
and feel winters deep chill
seeping into my bones.
It still feels
like I'm dying
a very slow
death.

Ache

Some days I do not
know why my heart
aches so.
As if it has never
been made whole;
never healed
by the aged and tender
hands it was entrusted to.
Maybe it's just time
to put it through
the wash once again
and hang it out to dry.

Robins

I've always been fond
of robins.
There's something sweet
about their cheery
disposition noted in
the song that often
awakens me on spring mornings.
There first arrival
let's me know Spring
is truly near.
So it was quite odd
to see so many robins gather
on the snow covered branches
of trees in early February.
They came suddenly,
a hundred or more;
I happened to glance over
through the window,
sitting eating breakfast,
to see them all
staring back at me.
So out of place.
Then they flew away
just as suddenly
in a rush of wings and wind.
I wonder if I'm the only one
who saw them.
Maybe they came
to remind me
I'm not the only creature
who feels out of place.

Hands

My hands seem so small
so much of the time.
They've never known
a true hard days work,
or held a dying hand.
They're too weak
to hold on to everything
that I wish to hold on to.
There are all sorts of hands
but the strongest ones
are the ones that are
holding me through.
My hands have cradled
a new born;
but the strongest
have cradled the most
broken of men.
The strongest hands
have held the tiniest of babes
too delicate for this world.
There are so many different
hands.
Small and tender ones,
large burly ones,
thin and worn ones
thick ones,
dirty ones,
clean ones,
each fits perfectly
in the strongest hands.

Attachment

once in a while
I wake up in a bed
that is not my own;
there's that split second
before I'm really awake
that I wonder if
I'll find myself
on your couch,
your gentle hand
on my shoulder
waking me up.
It's now one
of those places
that no longer exists
for me...
I can never go back,
things would never be
the same as they used to be
when I was foolish enough
to think that somehow
I belonged there.

Contented Dreams of a Fish

As the late afternoon light
reflects off the dazzling snow
and streams through my window
touching the different angles
of the world of my fish.
I wonder as he gaily swims about
captured in the splendor
of the afternoon light,
if he ever wants more.
Does my fish dream of rivers
with currents?
Of other creatures and rocks
and exotic plants.
Does he wish for ponds filled with
new and exciting things?
Does he ever wish he were a bird
and he could fly away.
My fish, swimming against the glass
does he feel trapped?
Does he dream of what could be?
Or does he take each day
for what is given.
Is he grateful for the flakes
that appear each day for him
to gladly gobble down;
or the days when he can
breathe easily in new water.
Does he delight in swimming round
his very own bowl in circles.

Something

So many branches
like arms reaching
towards something
the sky,
heaven,
birds,
something alive
to hold on to.
Roots sinking deep
into the earth
anchoring.
Looking for something
to hold on to;
so they're not blown away
We're a lot like trees.

Blood

I never see you
when I look in the mirror.
People always say we look alike,
I don't see it.
I thought I could deny you
pretend that your blood
doesn't course through my veins
pretend that we've never met.
It's not that I never tried
to love you;
believe me I did.
Sometimes I get tired
of pulling your yoke
all the time--
my back aches.
But as much as I try,
I can't even sit
and eat breakfast alone
without you interrupting
arguing with you in my head.
You'll never understand, will you?
Who could blame either of us.

Dusk

Dusk came quickly tonight.
You know that time
when light still lingers
somehow below the horizon
trying to give
that last bit of hope.
The sky painted
with mellow colour
ready to turn straight to black
like a dark sheet.
Perhaps dusk had better things to do
than to stay for evening tea.

Run

I used to have this plan
that one day I'd run away.
Not like how it usually is,
packing my bags and going
out into the cold night
stowing away on an empty
freight-train.
But one day I'd move
far away from here
and anything remotely familiar.
I'd re-invent myself
not be the boring me
I used to be
but a new a wild me, unafraid
of the unknown or dark alleys
I guess that plan died
when I learned how to love
how to grow attached.
Perhaps it simply sits dormant
waiting for when I need to
Run.

In the kitchen today

My father and I
sit together in silence
eating lunch at the same table
like strangers in a restaurant.
I watch my young white fingers
grasp the spoon gently
and bring it to my mouth.
While I see his,
out of the corner of my eye,
sausage fingers
permanently strained dark from earth
grip the spoon like a beast
made to live in a human's world.
People always say we're so alike
but we've never understood each other.