Today you were defeated,discouraged,dejected, burned again.
Someone brought it up, dressed you down, told you off, and staged another coup.
Any other day you could’ve shrugged it off: but not today.
A tone, a word, a face dragged you into a pit, a chokehold, a fog.
It stings. But hey: you are not what has happened to you.
You’re not someone else’s fake idea of who they think you should be.
You’re more than a backroom whisper where rumors lose reality
— you are more than seedy surface opinions born in a broth of fantasy.
You are beloved by a cosmic king of constancy
who has narrated a different history over today, and everyday, and for eternity.
He underlines, highlights, italicizes you apart from who you think you are:
and He is writing you with a furious final love.
Don’t let a bad mood steal you; don’t let a bad day say more about you than today.
Because it’s just today.
Let love say good morning.
J.S. Park

Winter Longings

It is at this time of year
that my eyes begin to crave beauty.
They long to see
the green heads of crocuses
peaking through the snow.
And my skin yearns
for the warmth of the sun,
unhindered by clouds and icy winds.
My frozen heart once more
desires to beat again within my chest.
My lungs want to breathe life
in and out
as my hands create something
wonderful, beautiful, spectacular.

True Father

I've done it again,
been careless
and down right naughty.
I look to the door
expecting the belt
to fly off your waist.
Expecting rage to fill you,
and contempt in your words.
I expect profanities
to fly around the room
like little nasty birds
pecking at my skin.
While I experience
the beating of my life.
I've blown it again.
I knocked over the vase,
got paint on the walls,
tracked mud in the room,
left myself unkempt
in smelly stained clothes.
And I stand in front of you
in anticipation of a beating.
Maybe that would be easier
than trying to make things right.
Just take your rage out,
But you aren't angry.
Yet, I know from your look
there is disappointment.
I've disobeyed.
Instead of blows,
your words flow out like
honey and lemon
on a sore throat
Stinging and sweet all at once,
cleansing and healing.
You take me by hand
and dress me in clean clothes.
Then help pick up the pieces
of shattered ceramic.
Help me scrub the paint
off the wall,
the vile words disappearing
letter by letter.
Help me wash the dirt off the floor.
All the while
whispering words of kindness to me.
And I cannot believe my luck.
Why aren't you angry?
Why aren't you giving me the silent treatment?
Don't you think I deserve...
You know what I deserve,
but you already gave it to someone else
they volunteered to take my punishment.
Have I forgotten so quickly?