too-many polar mind

this messy room is an echo of home
a reminder of blessings
and a precursor to being without

settle down, book to read
stain my mind with pens that bleed
bed's unmade, how to eat
how much more i need to sleep
next semester, where i'll be
give as love to those in need
cant find rhythm, lost my beat
paper due, cant get a lead
getting sloppy, friend in need
i cant believe i lost that sheet
messed up again, again i plead,
forgive my sins, dumb wretched me
forget the time, forget im freed
emotions well, soon i cant see
4 am, my mind cant treat
all the things attention needs
hard to breathe, hard to sleep
hard to do near anything.
cant i be done
cant i just leave
take me home
to rest and peace?

I Am Not

I am not strong. 

Not on my own. 

When I am strong, 
it is God in me, 
it is my trust and unseen belief
that lets God be the strength in me. 

I am not strong. 





I am not god. 

I cannot bear the weight of the world. 

I cannot fix all the problems that I want to. 
I'm not god, 
thank God. 

I am not strong. 





I am not impervious. 

I cannot love everyone perfectly 
all the time. 
I cannot respond to jokes at my expense 
or the odd humiliation 
as a simple joke 
all the time. 
I am human, 
prone to pain, 
suceptable to anger, 
and I need to feel loved. 

I am not strong. 



I am not 
strong

Make-Me-Feel-Pretty Make-Up Brand

My make-me-feel-pretty gloss didn't do it's job today. 


I even had on my make-me-feel-pretty mascara, applied as normal 

all 76 coats of it. 




I realized that my 
make-me-feel-pretty gloss doesn't work well 
on cracked lips. 

Prodigals Son

Prodigal's Son

Take me home tonight, I'm done
If home's still open to the prodigals son [x2]

I know I've been here before,
On my knee's, at your feet, on the floor,
I come unworthy, unclean, and dirty,
Unsure if you'll take me back anymore

Take me home tonight, I'm done
If home's still open to the prodigals son [x2]

I've been so empty and so much in need,
Humiliated, and dying to eat
I've come to my senses, can I come home?
I can't imagine that you'd want to see me.

Take me home tonight, I'm done,
If home's still open to the prodigals son [x2]

How many robes, how many rings, can your grace afford, my father, my king?
How many times can I be raised from the dead? How many times can I be lost and found again?

Take me home tonight, I'm done,
If home's still open to the prodigals son [x2]

I'm Done

I know I've been here before...
on my knee's, at your feet -- on the floor

Take me home tonight, I'm done,
If home's still open to the prodigals son 







I've been writing this song for a while, but I cant seem to finish it. 
It's my hurting song. 
When I'm hurting internally, when I seem to be hurting people around, and worst of all, when I hurt God. 
It hurts to not be able to finish it -- but its raw emotion, so maybe its meant to be a raw, unfinished thing itself. 

And when you hurt God, when you hurt other people, when you just hurt this bad, you start to wonder if you can ever be loved and accepted... this song is rhetorical, because I know that you definately can be loved and accepted... 

...but that's not what you know when you feel like this. 

Because sometimes your feelings make you know something very different than the truth of the matter. 











Sometimes, they make you feel only the truth of the feeling itself. 












I know I've been here before...
on my knee's, at your feet -- on the floor

Take me home tonight, I'm done,
If home's still open to the prodigals son 








Sometimes I want to equate love with hurt. 
But I dont think I can equate hurt with God -- at least not in the sense that He causes it. 

Yahweh Yireh, Jehovah Jireh, The Lord Will Provide

It's been one of those times.

You know those times when its not easy to trust God, but you just cant help but trust in His goodness? Hm. Let me try that again.

I know God is good, and although it's not easy, I know that He is good -- I believe that He is good, and most especially, I've seen many accounts of His goodness.

$4000. That's just this semester. That's what I'm lacking. That's life.

And though I know that I want to be here so badly, even more than that, I want to be obediant to God and His call for my life. If that's not at CBC, then it's somewhere else where He deems it right for my life at this season.

I'm not saying that I wont stay at CBC, but if I end up leaving, I'm prepared, I'm ready. It wont be easy, but I'm ready for it.

So please, pray for me. More than money (which cant hurt either, remember Jabez?), please pray for a clear direction in my life. And if you get an answer, share with me, please! I'll do the same if I hear anything on it.



It's been one of those times.
And you know? I'm thankful to have this chance to grow.

How can I stand here with You and not be moved by You?

I'm Homeless

If home is where the heart is
what does that mean for me?
My heart is split in peices,
halfway across a country, how can it possibly be beatin--?
torn between where I've been, and maybe where I'm goin
I dont know, I dont know, where is home... for me?

If home is where the heart is
do I have to choose?
No doubt my choice will always loose...
Is home the place you hang your hat, or kick off your shoes?
Or take a snooze?
Or go when you're cryin, cause you feel like hiding
when you've got a bad case of the blues?

If home is where the heart is, is that where you're loved?
What if thats lots of places?
What if you've never known, you've never known, loving embraces?
Or does it mean with family, even if you're faced
faced with loveless faces?
I dont know, what is home? What does it mean?


Well if, home is where the heart is
I guess it beats inside my chest, I'm home with each and every breath
Home is inside us where every,
hope we've had, every
tear we've shed, and
dream we've dreamt, where every
prayer we've said and
word we've meant -- home's where that comes from,
yeah


I wrote this song the day before I came back from my Christmas break.

For the past couple of weeks, more like the past couple of months, I've been feeling homeless. Not in the sense of, I have no where to live, because God has been good, God is faithful.

Tonight I was thinking about where my home really lies. This song came to my mind, and for the first time I thought, "Maybe home isnt really any of those things." As I was walking home, crying, I kept thinking.

Maybe home is something that I dont have.
Its in you're best friend's conversation, or in the warm arms of loving hug, people that really know you.
These are the people that get you, dont judge you or preach at you.
I dont have anyone like that.
Not that I can walk over to and cry with.

Who needs this mess?
I dont know.
But I need a home, soon.

Rusted

Every now and then I feel like no one knows how I feel.
No one that is.
No one as in person.

But there is a way to describe how I feel -- and not in a textural sense.
Rust.

That's the best way to describe me -- rust.


Okay, so I'm not saying that my skin is very reddish orange and feels like metal sandpaper... no, indeed that would be crazy...

No, what I'm saying is that, I'm like rust.

Rust is something that I find beautiful. It is something that is burned and weathered by the elements around it, creating its harsh, coloured texture. Ultimately it is weak and isn't always appreciated.






The thing is, I feel like rust sometimes.

I can look beautiful... or I can be different colours that some find intriguing, but ultimately, I can be harsh. I can be weak and unappreciated.

My defective character or the fact that I am socially inept, (or something of the like) is the only reason I can explain these jaded, rough edges, carved away by the world around me -- these situations, these trials, these people that I meet.

At first, my rough surface is just that -- the wear and tear has only affected the outmost appearance. But eventually, it digs itself deep into my core, and I become brittle, ready to crack, break and cry -- a shattered pile on the floor.

Eventually, the Good Mechanic repairs me... when I've decided that it's no longer possible to maintain the fragile state that the rust finds itself in

Sometimes, I feel like rust.

Take My Hand

I'll cut this silence and make a stand
"Will you run with me? and
Take my hand?

"I've been living life a little too bland
So now to be bold, will you
Take my hand?

"I've been offered the world, but it aint too grand
But I've found what I need, if you'll
Take my hand.

"You see, life very rarely goes the way I planned,
I know things will make sense, just
Take my hand.

"I've searched the forests and fields in every land
But I'll search no more, if you'd just
Take my hand

"So you've heard my love and my laugh and my stand
Will you run with me? Will you
Take my hand?"




June 2 2008

What Are Words Anymore

What am I doing here?

No, that's a stupid question. 
The truth is, that doesnt even really matter right now.



Okay, here it is. I want to be broken, but I cant handle the pain... no

I dont want to handle the pain
not alone


Gotcha. Not alone. 
I know I'm not.
But yes. Yes I am.
Dont tell me I'm not.
If you do, than
you 
dont
know 
jack.





I've been there.
There. Where it deep down hurts.
Where I'm crying til 4 in the damn morning.
That's what you get.

And what do I do with it? God knows... 
... it's beyond me...

But the thing that gets me -- why are other people so calloused?

Doesn't anyone care anymore?


IF we are going to make a difference, shouldn't it start with caring? Loving? Does anyone know what that means anymore?







Love.
Words have lost their meaning.


May 30 2008

The Sounds of Silence

Every fifteen seconds or so, when there's no traffic going by -- none close by at all, it's as though the city streets are suspended.

All except for that constant loud and protrubing noise that seems to ever peirce my eardrums.

Some people who live in the city all their lives will never understand what the sound of silence is truly like.

Because in this city, this cities silence anyhow, there is never honest silence.





The sound of silence that I can best describe is a yearly, but also seasonally seasoned occurance back home.

Spring.
You will be greeted with the quiet rustlings of the newly forming leave buds. Beyond that? There is nothing. Only silence.

Summer. 
You will find yourself lying on your back with the window wide open, the occasional muskeeto that managed to break through your screen window buzzing off in the corner of your room. The sound of frogs chirping in the near-yet-distant ponds outside of your house are accompanied with the purest sound of silence.

Fall.
You will find yourself reminiscing over spring, yet also find that the rustling has become more bold, as the brilliant and vivid reds and yellows and oranges and greens scamper along the ground, together blending in a magnificent symphony of sweet lullabies. The only other sound to be heard, is silence.

Winter.
This time of year, you will be mainly met with the most bold silence you've ever dared to encounter. Aside from the silence, the occasional cracking of branches may be heard, as the weight of the snow pressures the limbs of the once beautifully decorated maple to become fragile and snap.

Oh silence.
In this city, what could come close to comparing with your soft hushes of sleep?
I shall sleep sound again when I enter your North-most boundaries.

Sitting the Fence

How does that work?

"Well, I can see how it works. There's really only two sides."

Really? There's only two sides?

"Honestly, I'm looking right now. There's one side, and then there's the other side. Two sides. "

Have you considered the third side? Maybe there's an alternative choice.

"Listen God, there's clearly only two visible options. And cant you see that I'm sitting smack in the middle, right on this fence? Trust me, I see both sides. One side, and the other. It's as clear as night and day."

But between night and day, is there not also dusk and dawn?

"Okay, God, no, You're missing the point, You're getting caught up on the logistics of -- look. I can see both sides, and to tell Ya the truth, neither of them look like great options."

Okay, I'm listening. Go on.

"Well, on the one side, it's miserable. It's dark, and I can feel the heaviness and dampness seeping into my bones here. There's tears and pain, and a lot of emotion. God, the emotion on this side of the fence is overwhelming. But You know God, its not a bad place, it just hurts like -- well, You get the picture."

I do. 
Please, continue.

"Well okay. Then there's the other side of the fence. God, this side is bright and lively and it's full of smiles, but -- I cant feel anything here God. It's the opposite of the other side. There, I was flooded with emotion, but here, God, there's none at all. I feel numb. No, I choose to be numb. Oh, it's a happy place, but, the richness of "emotion" is lacking here. It's all forced on this side."

I see.

"So, I've decided that I'll try to sit on this fence here in the middle God. This is the only good option You've provided me with. I'm not angry or bitter toward You God. No, I love You so much! That doesn't change. And I love the people that You've put around me God! That doesn't change either. But I feel like a bathtub thats never satisfying. I'm either filled and overflowing with emotions, or I'm shallow and empty God."


I see. And which option do you choose?

"God, I cant! So, I'll sit on the nifty little fence right in between. Its quite the balancing act, but hopefully I can do it Lord."

Well, my child, this is where being God comes in handy. I can see a third option that you've missed.

"What do You mean?"

Well, I didn't intend for you, or anyone for that matter, to sit on the fence. The fence you sit on, well, it is not mine child. I did not intend for a split between the two sides, but alas! It has come to be.

"So You mean, the third option is... no fence at all?"

That's right.

"Wait, but -- no fence?"

No fence. None.

"But how can two opposites come together to be one? The feeling and not feeling? How God?"





And so, I am left praying to God.
I dont have answers.
This is where I'm at.
This is my prayer: finish the story Lord.

Amen.