The Happy Stuff

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. Hard to find myself content. More, more, more. They scream. I whisper. Unspoken, with a troublesome creature behind the painting. It’s beautiful, not real though. They say. I wink. Exactly. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. Amidst such rough and tumble, that is. It’s all a circle, not a line with an end, like they think. They don’t think. I chuckle. I know all about that circle. Too bad they’re all wrapped up. Tied up. Shaken up. Whoa, shaken up. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. So much. Big pools of brokenness. Arms always, but no relief. Lips to cheeks or foreheads, but no rest, really. “Wa wa wa…” like the educator in that strip about a boy and his dog. Dogs. They understand better, sometimes. Big eyes, no kisses. Just presence. They condone. I cringe. Beings can do that too. Try. Just try. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. Fury. It comes and goes. Why, I oughta… they pierce. I do too. What a nightmare. Oh yes, I said it. The dark and a thought. No rest for me, no sir. Shrieking and shoes pounding. Sidewalks take the rage. Scared? Me too. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. It won’t get there. I won’t, they say. I wink. This fluffiness beside me is inspiration enough. It’ll get the job done. Perpetual solace. No name, though. Just happy thoughts. Happy face, sad face. Happy face, sad face. Happy face… 

Not so hard to write the happy stuff. Effort with a smile. You wanna see? My, my, my aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. I’m filled, that’s all. Circling for an end. For the kill? Nah, for the end. Oh wait, that’s a lie. They shrink. I know. Oh, I know. I’m smiling because of the sword and flame in the clouds. It’ll be there, I promise. More, more, more. No more. Rough and tumble. No more. The pools. No more. Fury? Fury. No. More. See now? They don’t. You know I do. 

Hard to write the happy stuff? Gosh. You tell me.

The Power of a Whisper

There is nothing like the goodness of God and the strength of His presence. 

~~~

His love is deep and filled with promises.

~~~

We all desire to be loved unconditionally. 

I have something exciting to tell you:

The Lord of all, 

the Creator of the universe,

 and the Author of our faith

has sacrificed everything He ever could

to wash you clean.

~~~

Those rough spots,

when you feel like life could never be worse,

are just part of the storm

that eventually calms...

and there is peace.

~~~

"... the Lord passed by, 

and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains

and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord,

but the Lord was not in the wind;

and after the wind an earthquake,

but the Lord was not in the earthquake;

and after the earthquake a fire,

but the Lord was not in the fire;

and after the fire

a still small voice."

~~~

So if you feel like the wind is blowing you around

and the earth is shaking

and your skin is searing,

be encouraged.

The Lord will whisper.

The cinquain

Learned of a new form of poetry the other day. It's called a "cinquain." My creation follows.

Hug

Cozy, Desperate

Healing, Lasting, Loving

A place of security

Comfort

I'm not sure that I like cinquains. They're much too structured or something.

1 Noun

2 Adjectives

3 "-ing" words

4-word sentence

1 Synonym of noun

Free verse is best, says the mushiness under my thinking cap.

The Bad Stuff

Alcohol is terrible for you... physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Don't do it.

Gone

Sitting here.

Drinking a delectable cup of caramel frozen coffee.

Wondering why God takes good things away from us.

...

I've finished my drink, and yet I have no answer.

...

My heart aches.

My drink is gone.

And still.

I have no answer.

Dedicated to all the strong and broken women

who have lost their little ones,

whatever the cause may be.

Some soul-searching

In trying to figure out my future these past few days, I've discovered more about myself than an entire lifetime has taught me.

I want a family. Knew that. I want to get out of debt. Knew that. I want to be at home. Knew that. I want to leave work at work. New one. I want to help people. New one. I only want to dance for the Lord, not as my career. New one. I want to work with youth. New one. I want to organize and help in areas that don't have much help and organization. New one. I want to give myself fully to the work of the Lord, whatever that may be. Knew that... but never accepted it.

All these new realizations have consequently made me think about the decisions I've made thus far. I highly recommend soul-searching for all of you. Take a few days and just talk... talk about what you want. What you don't want. What God wants. Pray. Seek Him, seek Him, seek Him!

It's beating

I’m writing without the slightest clue of what to say. Some call it free writing.

Random thoughts. Pointless envy. Motionless longing. Tired eyes. All of it is sinking deep into my soul, with no release. No release, no point. No point to all this madness. I’m done with him, thank God. I’m done. I long to love again, but I fear I never will. I’m ok if I never love a man. To never love a man… what a concept. My mind is programmed in the old-fashioned way. Grow up, fall in love, make babies, die happily. Note to self: don’t go changin’. My life line is people, but people are also my downfall. My downfall. Hmm. To fall down… never to get back up? Yes, the floor is where I stay. Smothered and battered and ripped to shreds by nothing but my own heart. It beats and moans and lashes out at me. My own heart. Who would have thought? I know it all, but it’s head knowledge; hardly heart knowledge. Like a distant memory; something I’ll always remember, but it gets fuzzy. He get’s fuzzy and stays that way for quite some time. These days, anyway. Pure genius, to get me running back to those great, big, beautiful arms. Silence, and later a hug. During the silence, my heart beats and moans and lashes out. It gives no rest, no goodness, no peace. I’ll die in limbo. Yes, I’ll die in limbo. To never love a man… what a concept. But I am in love with one… one who, quite honestly, I don’t know. When I think of him, my heart beats and moans and lashes out at me. Me, the only one at fault. I’m aware that sand is coarse and rough and irritating… but when it’s pushing through your toes and massaging your feet, you don’t mind so much. It gets everywhere, but that’s the point, I think. My lover made it that way. That’s why I love him: I’m romanced. Every. Single. Day. Motionless longing. Tired eyes. And a heart that beats and moans and lashes out at me. I’m smothered and battered and ripped to shreds by nothing but my own heart. Yes, I’ll die in limbo.