Prayer in the Night

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I’m done searching for a miracle.

Done asking for fixed things.

I won’t plead with You any longer to release these bruises from my bones.

Or to lift the ink from my heartskin.

I don’t need restoration like I need to know You.

So, don’t take away this achiness.

Don’t let Lonely leave.

I hate her.

More than I’ve ever hated anyone.

But, You said she can stay-

So, she can’t be that bad.

Keep me here.

Trapped in a world I can’t see clearly…

Fuck my eyesight.

Because, there’s nothing worth seeing if I cannot see it with You.

You see in darkness as you see in light…

Will you see enough for me?

Let all I have lost remain lost.

Cast away into the infinity of finiteness.

What is any of it worth, if I am lost from You?

It hurts.

Oh it hurts.

To love with this mess of a chest.

The imperfect trying to love the imperfect will always be imperfect.

The imperfect trying to love the Perfect? It too will always be imperfect.

But You the Perfect, loving the imperfect, will always be Perfect.

So, Leave me in the pit.

In this groaning flesh.

In this sickness.

In the inexhaustible pain of existing here…

Just please don’t leave my side.

Miracles won’t help me now.

One thrilling, blood-tingling, impossible happening,

Would leave me cold just the same as the mundane.

It could never be enough.

I need a lasting happening.

Happening and moving constantly from one ache to the next.

I need a True Love.

A Transformational, Supernatural, All-consuming fire.

You.

Will You be enough for me?

 

Tattoo

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Time heals all?

Not of this sort…

 

You.

 

The only eternity that matters anymore.

 

I danced with a needle,

 

You took up a pen.

 

You would choose paper, but I would choose…

 

SKIN.

 

Forever.

“What a fool!” “What a fool!”

 

I cried to the Savior.

“Wash me clean!”

 

But this was no stain like I had at thirteen…

 

Scarred.

 

Needle scraped skin of insides unwritten,

 

How could I not know you’d forsake my “Forgiven”?

 

Oh how I’ve steel-scrubbed my heart-skin,

 

Just striving to wash you away.

 

And turning my face from the canvas,

 

Trying to remember it blank.

 

But on and on you are with me,

 

Long after the needle has scathed,

 

For I would choose skin and you would choose…

 

Paper.

 

On paper you penciled me in.

 

To-do today,

DONE tomorrow.

 

If you etch within margins, you can skip the sorrow.

 

You.

 

Bored like a child.

Blind to the value.

Scared of a pinprick.

Me.

 

Thrilled.

 

Longing to learn.

 

Beholding priceless treasure.

 

Committed to the art,

 

Yes! Even though it burned.

 

And fuck, I regret you.

 

I finally do.

 

My killer, my friend.

 

My eternal tattoo.

Unbroken

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I love music.

Not in the – “oh, this is a catchy song!” kind of way, but more in the – take me anywhere slowly, wrapped up in thrills, romancing with my soul kind of way. I could get lost in a song. It’s like each one is an alternate dimension, whisking me away on some ephemeral journey that lasts a lifetime within.

One of my favorite artists is a British alternative singer called Birdy. Her songs reserved for days of not being understood. Songs reserved for crying out all of my hopes, fears, and introverted passions. My very favorite song of hers is a lyrical masterpiece called “Unbroken.”

The first time I heard it, I felt like it had been written out of a breath I’d breathed. It was my song somehow. And it found me unbroken.

It was my quiet anthem in the dead of night. My reminder to keep my head up. A promise to myself to remain unbroken. But, then this happened. And now I will never be unbroken again.

I never used to understand why grown-ups were so serious. Where did that glimmer in their eyes run off to anyways? I couldn’t imagine why they were in such a wonder-less mood all the time. Today though, I know exactly why.

It’s this little thing called heartbreak.

There will come a day for all of us when we die at the mercy of caring about someone else. When that happens, you have no choice but to become something different.

Most of us turn into callouses, never to be scathed by such an evil again. Transforming into this guarded, untouchable, robot of a person is my greatest fear. But it’s also my greatest fear NOT to.

In reality, I know can’t fight it. It’s happening whether I want it to or not. My eyes are done glimmering. My nose will begin to love the smell of the grind more than it loves anyone or anything around it. And whatever it is that’s left in my chest, it’s not a heart.

So, now that song means something quite different to me. It’s not about being unbroken. Because no one stays that way for long. Instead, it is a call to strength from the things that used to be unbroken.

Yeah, your eyes don’t shine anymore, but they did once. And THAT can’t be taken away. Yeah, you gave it all. But it isn’t gone; it’s all right there where you left it. No, you’ll never be that beautifully innocent, heart-wide open child again. But she’s still alive.

Somewhere in the past, she lives. Unbroken.

 

The Exception

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Someone call a doctor, or someone call a nurse.

No?

Then, someone call the cops and someone call the hearse.

She’s lying in the trenches and face down in the dirt.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,

They could not save her from friends bent on killing.

So, someone call an ambulance, someone call a copter.

Fine.

Then, call up all the morgues and spread around the ashes!

Please.

She’s rotting on the sidelines.

Stained shattered glass passions.

Ocean eyes opened wide, but paled by the

Lifeless.

All because another threw down the

Priceless.

So, call up the rescuer, or the hands that hold boulders.

Why not?

Then, ask for the funerals and prepare the glossy headstones.

“Here lies the girl”

the exception to grace

NO.

None will be given.

Go right ahead!

Step on her face.

 

Confessions of a Perfectionist

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It always ends in bitterness.

But not for any other person than myself.

And It’s never quite enough…

The A should’ve been an “ A PLUS” (at least!)

And I only worked out 6 days this week!

But I’ll never show you tears.

Those are for the weak and defeated.

I’ll stand taller.

Every morning I give myself over to It’s scrutinizing control.

“If you do this exactly right, then you’ll be worth something”

Or, so It tells me.

“They will love you, if and only if, you give them no reason not to”

And I really tried… (But maybe I didn’t because if I had tried then I would’ve performed better.)

And if I had performed better? Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like this.

It lies, and I know it, but I can’t see past It.

After all, what does the world look like through eyes of leniency?

It manifests Itself in the most subtle of ways; coursing through my waking hours.

Might as well not even try.

Anything.

Nothing less than excellent will suffice, and clearly I am incapable.

Eventually, I give up.

When the journey gets lost in the destination, and the learning warps into chore,

It has won.

So, I smile in lies to the world.

Because It expects nothing less.