faith

If my faith was (is) based in fear
then I had (have) no faith at all.

"The individual person is responsible for living his own life and for finding himself. If he persists in shifting his responsibility to somebody else, he fails to find out the meaning of his own existence.” -Thomas Merton

soul-searching

12:36am

Stream of consciousness, words and thoughts.
Nothing removed for truth lives here.
I adore and love and that is all.
Fuck time-tables and biological clocks
and logic and reason and what-I-should-do.
Fuck that, and fuck you too.
I love him, at least that much is true.

untitled (2)

A near paralytic in this absence of light
I lost my eyes, and fell through the dark

untitled

Possessing a quiet, secret love
muffled by silence of sleep.
Eyes darkened, eclipsed golden suns.
Simple warmth in which to crawl
curled fetal, enveloped by twin orbits.
Still desiring his touch
held underwater in slippery hands.
And his easy words they melted her
so few and far between.
Into a drowning, milky puddle
of hopefullness and a scant few tears.
Perhaps the beginning was their curse.
Salvation lied (she hoped) in their soft love.
Yet, no Savior did he prove to be
That starlit sky was not her heav'n,
and shared breath is weakening.
So in the blossoming morning dawn,
swollen lips should breathe their last.
Until the next, the next, and next
Where the warmth becomes sole comfort
Crafty blanketed tortures, blinked back
Just to breathe together (together)
In and out, weakened by each lisping gasp
While the slowness creeps cold and still.

black

Unending apologies could never suffice
Nigh, they would ring untrue still
My love remains for You, of course
But like death with ribbons
Or pain with sprinkles.
Beautiful garments for luster lost.
At first I swayed carefully. Wary
Of stampeding Your invisible heart
With my vile idolaters heels
Yet slowly I turned my wayward step
Feet scorched on the embers of cautiousness.
I chose wrong instead, tripping into his arms
He—who haunts my sickly-sweated dreams.
Your saccharine words once enveloped me
The printed characters stained in Red.
So cocooned I was in bloodied Truth
Eloquent, but alas they don’t quite fit.
The tongue ferrets out my secrets instead.

child-painter

Fingers dipped,
smearing the brilliant colors
into brown swirls of shit-stained mess.
Paints only vibrant in separation.
Instead the child’s digits,
are dripping wet
and poised for the kill.
Her mission: to blur lines.
Rainbow rouge-stained fingertips,
soiling frilly pink clothes,
white carpeted floors,
coloring book pages.
Former art and beauty,
of suburban tidy
transformed into soiled disorder
at the reach of the small hand.

She is still the same-- that little girl
now a grown woman in form alone.
Hands smoother, manicured and adorned.
Her world is the artists glossy dream,
Relationships beautiful--
Vibrant and lively
in their original separation.

Composed and collected,
packaged and presented.
But compelled by her own
feverishly inexplicable streak of
masochism-- she destroys the good.
Twisted and sickening
she bewilders them all.
Her mission: to blur the lines.
Overlapping and muddling,
Mixing and rejecting.
Toying with helplessly
trusting hearts,
sweaty grasping hands,
red swollen lips.
Until nothing is left, but
brown-shit colored pages.