Sometimes

sometimes...

my thoughts regress

as the beat in my chest

looms on the dimming excess

of the pain you have left

and of the sirens of regrets

and I wonder where it all went?

how was it all spent--

so quick with no caress

to soothe these wounds, the tempest

now rages, and cages

in my desperate attempt

to flee and fly and forget.

Toxic Cure

smooth sensation
red and fluid
hard against the pain
soft against the mind
easy to swallow
and easy to cope with

why cant it always be just like this?
soft to the touch in everything that i do
my mind is foggy,
a mist of never happenenings
and what can be's
a mist of surprises
and secret desires

talk to me a little longer
tell me your secrets
let my heart be your refuge
and let me hide in your love

Immobility in the Storms

I will make it through this storm--

although the winds are harsh and sharp against my wounds,
I will make it through whether you are there or not.

I can't turn off what I feel,
all the pain, the love, the pain,

the memories;

vivid in my mind
seared into my heart...
although
I scream inside, "No More!"--
what is there left for me to do?

I can't seem to move.

I close my eyes ,
but my heart can't forget your image
and my skin crawls at the thought of another.

Is this all there is for me?

Almost a prisoner,
without a desire to escape,
I can't seem to move.

Once Again

I believed our paths were not to cross
and yet,
just like a warm breeze that kindly caresses
and softly cradles the soul,
I saw your beautiful face again;
and your bright eyes
shone into my heart once again,
and they let me know
you still love me.

And because of that one look from you,
after what felt like a year of empty stares
from other empty, worthless eyes,
I am caught up again,
instantly;
sweetly seduced once again.

What am I to do?
Should I return to your heart,
that once felt so safe,
that may be safe to trust again,
that may prove to me that Love is worth waiting for?
Should I return to your arms,
that kept me warm during the cold,
that held me close when I felt so far,
that may protect me from all my fears?

Or
Should I depart from your sight,
and keep searching for a new horizon
for a new start...
for a chance to prove to myself
that I can stand firm alone.

Where is Love to guide me?
Where will Love take me,
if I let my heart reign again...

Once again,
my heart beats fast for you,
my eyes look only for you,
my hand is longing for your touch,
my lips are yearning for your warmth,
and my soul is waiting...
Once again,
faith, hope, and Love remain
and I am reaching out for an answer.

Empty Truth

When life goes on, day by day,
slowly,
as the hours tick away
mercilessly and incessantly,
I cannot bare how things have become.

I used to have it all
and there are those that look at me,
and see my smile as it exposes an invalid truth,
for it seems as though my world is safe,
for it seems as though I am alright.

But this smile that seems so warm and welcoming
blinds them from the real me;
this smile allows me to keep a distance
and shelter all the hidden truths,
the hidden pains,
the countless disappointments.

They say they care about me
but they cannot tolerate my heart,
they won't care to listen,
for my heart has too much sadness
and who wants to hear only stories of sadness?

If I were to share my stories,
the stories of love and loss,
the stories of life and death,
I would still be left alone
with empty words
and empty breaths.
I would still be trying to recapture
my self, a self that has been
blindly whispered into the winds,
roaming the earth
desperately seeking a truth
and finding nothing but empty air.

CrossRoads

What to do?
I do not know where to go from here;
This is a sad place: It is a sad place because I have always placed love on a pedestal,
making it the most important mission of my life. I only ever wanted love.

This is a sad place: A cross-roads where my heart is torn right down the middle, between everything I cherished and everything I Adore.

I know that both roads lead to Him, though one is narrow and direct and the other is wide and swerving. But my impatient heart can't bare how long both those roads are, and how long it will take to travel them.

The wide road has all of my past, including your memories and all our moments
and all our love-that-was; this road has all those moments visible and bare and exposed. And on this road, you are still there.

And yet the other road, the direct road, has all the same memories,
except over the agonizingly painful moments there is a Cross. This Cross has one highly-appreciated service: it blocks from my sight the pain, the loneliness, the torture.
But on this road, I also can't see the future.
So I am a scared.

I am torn down the middle.
My heart longs to travel the road of Crosses,
but I worry that you won't be there in the future.
I know that the road with my life’s memories, bare and naked and exposed, may still have you, but it doesn't have the future I long for; a future that shines bright because of God's curing and unending light.

It is a sad place because I have always placed love on a pedestal,
making it the most important mission of my life.
But now, Love is the priority; the Love of Christ and
by embellishing my heart in this True Love,
I am
drowning my sorrows
and trading them
for the safety of the Lord.

I hope you're at the end of the road with me, sharing in Love,
but even if you're not,
I'm starting my journey on the road with Crosses.
I am
going the distance
so that True Love
can be my only, direct guide.

A Day in the Life of a Journalist

January 8, 2010

You see this world for what it really is
At last you see the shine and the grime the dumpsters and the buildings the gambling and the bidding of young executives and of prostitutes that have been in the business for too long You see the endless trash the cars whether they speed or crash the pedestrians as they walk even if they are doing it all wrong speeding and stopping halting and flaunting but they never do it right Next thing you hear are the sounds of the night the repetitive drawls of bus engines starting and breaking down the numerous shouts of drunk teens as they lose function of their motor skills the subtle quick inhalations of the smoker late for a meeting in town and the whispered prayers of the homeless as they hope to endure the winter chills
You read the headlines stories all just stories You read faces more stories to be told You read the nutritional information on the side of some menu there is no story there There are stories on the street but all you do is walk on
This morning I saw an accident Or the remains of the accident An ambulance in all its glory and the streets shouting a story There was Blood yet the doors to the vehicle were shut and I could not get Lady Gaga’s song out of my head but something inside knew the story before me would go on unsaid
You are now passing an electronics store with windows that run for miles and each television you can see has Tiger Woods and the list of his whores that runs for miles You see some people stop and stare and comment and shake their heads disapprovingly and you walk on that story should have been left unsaid
About one o’clock now your stomach grumbles and you hunger for a satisfying bite No need to fight the urge you want a burger a cheeseburger or maybe you feel wild and you want a double cheeseburger to surge in you and last until dinner later that night You know not to indulge though because the nutritional value of such a thing would be horrendous and you would then have to surrender to a gym membership Besides if you had that burger the homeless would still go hungry
You leave temptation and you are now on 10th An elderly woman is crossing the street and you feel like you should help and as you proceed you notice your shoe is untied and you let the moment of putting others first pass you by O why O why was your shoe untied at that exact moment in time She walked on leaving you behind and you are bent down tying and untying and retying and just tying away all your precious time
Now you walk on across the city to the riverside You pass by streets of stores just stores merchandise that are pointless and useless like a Snuggie as seen on t v or merchandise that are useful but unexplainably expensive like a pair of gloves or earmuffs You wonder whether you should buy some because of the winter chills you must endure It’s a test of endurance we all must face Yet you walk on
You pass by payphones and remember that talk you had with your grandfather when he was telling you about how in his day there were no such things as telephones so you had to make personal house calls if any story was to be told You pass by an empty shopping cart tied to a hydrant You pass by a pair of sneakers hanging from the telephone wires You pass by a bar and suddenly the street lights go on
From the street you can hear the roar of the soccer game as it plays on the flat screen t v inside the bar You can hear the grunts of disgruntled men who are sipping away their sorrows You can almost feel the pinches that the waitresses are receiving as they pass by the disgruntled men You see that one of those men happen to be a co-worker but you walk on because there is no story to share between you and him But a bar fight breaks loose and you are inclined to stay and see if there is a story
The chills the skills the town this place of no ups only downs this bar the lights shine eerily on the car you see you hear you feel the first punch the crack of the first jaw and the wobble in your knees This story might be one to please your boss But you walk on

You refuse to be a prostitute

a sad story

Facing Death with Grace

Have you ever looked out your window and noticed all the lives around you? Have you ever thought about the fact that we may not all be here tomorrow? A young boy of seventeen has had to face that fact sooner than he should have, at least in my perspective. His mother passed away from cancer of the breast, liver, and brain. His mother was 42 years old, with plenty of deserved life left to her, and yet, the cancer got the best of her.

His mother was a very religious woman. She loved God, and everything to do with God, more than anyone I have ever met. She was also one of the sweetest women I have ever met. This woman was dedicated to her faith and was dedicated to showing and living that faith with her only son and her beloved husband. It pains my heart knowing that this young boy, a senior in high school, will not have his mother physically present for his graduations, for his wedding, and for the birth of his first child.

So, where is God in all of this? Where is the Almighty Savior that said, “You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it” (John 14:14)? I have prayed that his mother may not undergo physical suffering, but there was the excruciating chemotherapy. I know that her son and her husband have prayed more than I have, praying for her to stay on earth with them. I know that the young boy was living with never-ending hope that she would make it through. And yet, when his father sat him down and told him that his mother would undoubtedly pass away, the young boy was so broken by the news that he cried and cried. I know that they are going through probably the most difficult time of their lives. And I know that there is nothing I can do or say to ease their suffering.

But God, he who creates and ends all things, can. Jesus says “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms… I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you may also be where I am” (John 14:1-4).

In Jesus, there is eternal support and love—both for those that have passed and for those that will someday be with Him in the Kingdom of God. The young boy knows deep in his heart that he will get through this and that he can get through this with God at his side. For when we undergo our darkest hours, we may feel as if we are walking alone in the world, yet the truth is that it is God who carries us through to the light.

*Image provided by: http://alijohnson.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/grace_candle_logo2.jpg

"Song of Myself"

(Inspired by Walt Whitman)

I rejoice in this; that every part of me is a tightly-knit part of you, And every part of you clings to me.

I sit in the winter snow, gazing at the falling blanket of bliss, observing others in their merriment; Children laughing and playing, parents talking and worrying and listening for the possibility of slips and cracked bones of their young ones.
In the morning, the sun rises over the building tops, shedding light on the city… illuminating the dark and bringing into light each and every occurrence. Soundly waking, doors locked and windows shut, yet the sun pokes through and it is a new day.
My eyes slowly open, distracted by dreams of the night before… and as I regain consciousness, the shouts of city-goers are already blaring; cars honking, whirring and whizzing by on the streets below, the blanket of last night’s bliss turned to dirty slush beneath their crushing wheels.

Across the street, the lone pigeon perches on the windowsill, while her friends fly on; The eighth floor of my building is desolate and a lone girl sits in her room, awaiting her friends to take her and fly away; Downstairs, the youth revels in their joy and in their ability to never necessitate sleep.

Somewhere beyond the confines of city life, families awake and share breakfast and dreams. Somewhere beyond the confines of these walls, hands tell more than pushes on a keyboard, as they hold on tightly to their beloved. Somewhere beyond here, lion cubs suckle at the breasts of life as gazelles are chased to their death. Somewhere, children do not eat nor sleep and raise themselves into what they will.

I write new words of hope or demise; We have had luxuries and ignorance about enough, I present to you that life is all incumbent.

Have you no heart to help? Are you the Devil himself? It is a sad state and we shall all live to see the day of the end.

Come hither, city of dreams! City of never-ending lights! City of sights and sounds beyond imaginings! City of scud and sparkle! City of knifings and kisses! City of new starts and new ends! Sweet City of Life! O Richly Poor City of Souls! Excessive City and Wasteful City! You have shown us everything and nothing, and there is so much left to do to get to a new day… Smile, precious city, for help is on its way!

Where the Black man is accused of murder… Where the Latina is seen as an easy lover… Where the rich, white kids obtain everything they want without doing anything for it… Where the deserving, poor child gets nothing although he does everything he can in hopes of something… Where the homeless live in the cold and the heartless live in warmth… Where the stray dogs are caught and put to sleep… Where the weed is shared among hopeless friends… Where the under-aged allows themselves to witness worldliness before their times… Where the innocent are convicted because the guilty have a strong societal influence… Where those that want to help can only do so much… Where the sweet souls must accommodate the disgusting filth and where the smiles of young ones are silenced, bringing forth cries of solitude…

This is the life that we have chosen. These are the lives in the city that never sleeps. This is the life that I try to escape every time I close my eyes. Yet, this is my life. This is your life…

Pleased with opportunities if you just keep believing… Pleased with prayers in hope of peace and tranquility… Pleased with words that can say so much and strike a fire in the hearts of some… Pleased with the ability and capability to love beyond imaginings… Pleased with the possibility for so much more. On the pavement, pleased with the chalk markings of children, as it reminds me of the innocence that is still pure and still dreams beauty. These children are our future. Their young minds still have a chance to change for the better. Our children can affect everything, every new day…

All This is what I rejoice and that which I share with You.

*Image provided by: http://www.pixdaus.com/pics/1207694713GN7KshL.jpg

Can we be made New?

January 3, 2010


How can the person I love consider himself evil? I just had a long conversation with my supposed one and only true love and I was supportive with every bone in my body, as much as it pains my heart, but sometimes you just have to let go of your heart and find some love to give to them, because maybe, just maybe, they need it more. But is that stupid?

We are Christians, and we face a battle every single day. I pray and sometimes I don’t. He sins and sometimes he doesn’t. I love him and sometimes I despise parts of him. He loves me and sometimes wants to smack me, even though he doesn’t (and if there comes a moment when he does, I could never forgive him and I would leave him forever). We forgive and sometimes we don’t, and sometimes we judge others when we know we shouldn’t. But how can I cope when I feel like all my faith has done to me was help others and drain everything out of me, just so that they can have a deep, comforting gasp of fresh air? Where is my relieving breath?

And don’t think that I am saint or an angel, because believe me, I am not. I am jealous; more jealous than any person should be, as I am so jealous that sometimes I feel like taking a certain female and smashing her head against the wall, and then shoving pizza down her throat and watching her choke on the fat she doesn’t have, and this is all because my one and only true love finds her attractive.

Sometimes, I am evil minded. But I know that my sins and that my bad thoughts and my bad deeds come and go. But I also know that the good ones are harder to come by and when they do they make a lasting mark on your heart; It is easy to be bad but you got to work at it to be good. I also know (from my one and only true love) that a small good step can lead to another one.

When hearing the sins that trouble my one and only true love, I miraculously find these words coming to me, words that are so opposite to what I’m feeling: I am feeling hate and immense sadness knowing that what he goes through is something that I cannot really help him with, yet I am finding the words to let him know that I support him. It pains me though because I sit there and look into his beautiful eyes and as I see love and everything I could ever want, I am baffled as to how it is possible for my innocent, one and only, true Love to be corrupt. And the more I think about it, my support for him is verifiable. I actually do support him because I love him more than anything of this earth. I want him to change but to be honest, not for me. I want him to change for him. I want him to finally come across a computer and not once think about the sin that tempts him. I want him to be able to hold my hand and not have a wandering eye at the same time. (The second one is perhaps asking too much, because even I have a wandering eye sometimes.) I want him to grow in his faith and believe that he is not the evil; he is a sweet man with a good heart who just happens to do bad things sometimes. I want him to stop doubting everything and to finally have the confidence to realize that anything is possible if you just believe. I want him to be new. I want myself to be new. I want our relationship to be new. I want us to have a new start.

It is a new year of the earth. It is a new year in our relationship. It is a time for the next new edition of our devotionals. It is a new chance to begin anew. I know in my heart that there will be more times when sorrow creeps at unsuspecting hours and chokes my tears out of me. I know that there will be more times when sin slides under his door and forces his hands into a corrupt state. I know that there will be more times when temptation spreads our faith apart and opens doors that should remain closed until marriage. I know all these things but I keep praying for strength. And slowly but surely, my prayers will be answered because I know God is good.

I pray for God to make this New Year a real new start. I pray for us to want to change, to want to stray from sin and find solace in God’s grace, to support each other when we need it, to come to God when there seems like there can be no more support from each other, to trust that God will be there for us no matter what, and most importantly, I pray for me, for him, for us, to always keep trying and keep getting up no matter how many times we may fall. I know that God’s love is there for us to take if we so choose. And believe me, we choose to consume our beings with God’s love, but sometimes, it feels like such a stretch for our wavering arms and sometimes, it feels completely unable to grasp or sometimes it feels like it is completely gone. Sometimes, we lose sight of our faith. But I know that we just have to open our eyes again and see all the wonders of God’s love; Just wake up on a new day and have a new start.

We are able to change but what is more important is that we are capable of change. We are able to love but what is more important is that we are capable of love. We are able to receive God, but what is more important is that we are capable of receiving Him. What I truly realize is that sin is just a sometimes. But God’s love and grace and forgiveness and mercy and glory and majesty and power and salvation are a forever. With Him and in Him, there is always something new He does in our lives; we just have to be open to His will (If you don’t believe me, read it for yourself… Isaiah 43:18-19).

*Image provided by: http://ysanames.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/white-rose1.jpg

Words of A Minor

December 27, 2009

Have you ever read something so utterly amazing that it leaves you with a sense of inadequacy? I feel as though I do, more than I should, especially since I should be writing amazing essays; I should be coming up with these grand questions concerning human life and express them so eloquently and so magically that whomever were to read them would end up in a drawl of the mouth and in a speechless breath.

I read something today that made me feel unworthy of this blank page, at which I dabble my fingers furiously against the keyboard in order to make any sense out of the once infinite emptiness susceptible to infinite possibilities. After reading a young lady’s words and thoughts, as they were filled with fervent passion and intense intimate concerns, I was inspired to do just the same. I thought to myself, How can I call myself a writer, when her words, as seven years my minor, exist?

These moments of doubt spear my heart, spear my hopes and dreams—all dramatics aside—and I feel as though I have been challenged, not by her writer but by my writer. I have been challenged to think thoughts that I have never thought possible; I have been challenged to displace any notion from the immensities of my brain onto the availability of a page—yet, to do so would require me to reconsider my notions.

I have said that I have so many things to say, and that all a writer could ever ask for is for someone to read them, and to care about them, and to ponder over them as they have been placed out into the world. Yes, I have said that. But what happens when I read the works of another? I should feel inspired. I should be saying to myself, Jeez, look at that; Now that is true artistry of words. I want to share in that ease of language. However, as I sit here in my chair, I am bombarded with negative instances and find myself doubting my abilities, How can I ever write? How can I face this page knowing that there is better art to be made than my own?

I have always been self-conscious. I have never truly had a good sense of self-esteem, let alone a high self-esteem. I was an obese child, and adolescence never was kind to fatties. I remember in sixth grade that I had the biggest crush on this once cute boy—although now he is an insignificant fish-faced man (haha!)—and on this very hot summer day, I was so inclined as to place my long hair into a ponytail, and as I did, he passed by me and gave me the dirtiest look, laughed at me, and said matter-of-factly that I looked so ugly. Now, I know I am not “ugly” as I do take care of myself, but at the age of eleven, words like that can dismantle any young girls’ ambitions, and for the rest of that summer, I always had my hair down, trying to cover my ugliness.

Sometimes, my eleven-year-old self comes back to life and finds a home in my aging soul. Sometimes, I feel “fat”—in the sense where I am useless, worthless; that nothing I am, nothing I say, nothing I do, can ever contribute to this beautiful universe. But that is only Sometimes. One day, however, I know that with my own children, I never want them to undergo any hints of inadequacy. I want them to strive forward, to embellish their dreams and aspirations, to climb up and over any obstacle they are presented with, and to know that they are never alone—for the love of God, parents, and family, is always helping them along the way.

I want them to find the power of their words; to know that what they have to say is most definitely worth saying. I want them to crave an empty page, or an empty science project board, or an empty diorama box, because in that emptiness the echoes of their thoughts can be heard and the manifestation of true art—as it applies to individual sense of worth—can come alive. I want them to realize what has taken me years of struggling and hurt and pain: you are great just the way you are

As I sit here, letting these notions slip from my mind through my fingertips, making a harsh tapping sound with every press against the keyboard, I realize that my harsh tapping sounds are my melody of thoughts. My words may be choppy, my words may flow like beautiful streams, my words may light up a thousand smiles, my words may furrow ten thousand brows. I write furiously, I write with passion. I write quickly and without ease and without stop until the very end of my last period on the page. And that is okay. I may have questions that will never be answered and I may have answers that may never want to be heard. I am doing this for me, I am striving to forget who I was, and to find who it is that I am and who I want to be. I can face this now full page, and call myself a writer.

*Image provided by: http://images.veer.com/IMG/PIMG/PPP/PPP0008961_P.JPG