Poems & Words

Oh, but perhaps you’re not meant to be a gas station

accepting short stops and farewells within a short amount of time.

Perhaps loving someone should feel more like

 a side by side walk through the forest,

not a one man, exhausting kind of climb.

Oh, but, perhaps you’re,

not created to have others only sprint to you when they notice they’re on low.

Not meant,

 for giving away all your entirety so another being, they may flow.

And perhaps you were meant to be a human,

a daughter or son of the Creator and King,

perhaps a relationship of love mimicking the gospel,

to you, He solely desires to bring.

And perhaps we are far too eager for attention from another human soul,

perhaps we forget this world wasn’t created,

so we could fit that mold.

Perhaps we are not gas stations, as people ignore our names

and only seek the closest,

as if our love is some countdown type of game.

Perhaps they’ll break down before they get to us,

so they lean all weight upon the accelerator.

Perhaps we’re not meant to pour out as we are passed by.

Oh, but perhaps you’re not meant to be a gas station,

Perhaps you’re meant for something much greater.

“As divided as ever,”

but we do not let it digest.

To replace the throne with male or female,

despite their name,

we will end finding

no rest.

To base our love for others on current circumstances,

we are following no call.

To only hug and celebrate those who our words agree with,

we can’t claim the title of one for love,

not in the slightest,

not at all.

We are people given voice

and it should never be muted.

But how loudly are we raising our opinions,

and how softly are we whispering

where we tell ourselves we are being rooted.

A temporary title,

which you are allowed to worship or despise.

But how much personal effort it is,

to fall into the suffering of land on either side of those lies?

If we were half as eager to show compassion

and accept all of man, not simply some

as we are about posting of our awe or fury of this one,

media obsessed and honored outcome.

Perhaps closer to heaven on earth this world would seem,

if we had our eyes fixed on what is eternal

and not what we categorize, mainstream.

A voice given to us to say what we believe,

but not given to us to speak hatred to those

who don’t see what we see.

We are called to do what is right and pursue love and respect.

But we cannot be hateful when fighting for what is right-

If we are chasing light with flames,

our pursuit will continue to continue staying wrecked.

For Jesus would stand firm in His faith and be steady in reason,

but can we faithfully say, Jesus would be one ready for slander

in the brokenness of season?

“But love your enemies,” He speaks,

for this advice does not fade,

may we ask ourselves,

in the end, what is all for me,

that will be weighed?

You were created with a mind full of wonder

and stance but may we be reminded,

no man was made to come in contact with the gospel

as the cruelty of this world continues to make his view blinded.

Have your voice because a gift to you, it has been handed.

But cease the pursuit of the evil infused into your words,

for they leave others made in His image,

only further wounded and stranded.

True power is not held in who you vote for or even in who you protest,

True power is in the assurance that you nor I was

created in a complex yet raw type of jest.

And if this is true,

then our eternal, internal security should lead us above.

Above hate,

above slander,

above name calling,

above, we shall rise, above.

Because this country is not in need of an overflow of aggressive opinions,

above, we shall rise, above,

what we need is so simple that it has become ignored,

and in this ignorance, what

as humans, do we seem to be moving toward?

above, we shall rise, above,

because how desperately, in this country,

do we need to fight for our

regardless sense of acceptance,

we shall rise above,

how desperately in this country do we need to regain

just our willingness to love?

In the sport of racing they say,

your car goes where your eyes go.

And maybe it applies

to more than just tracks and tires,

perhaps – the unveiling of full life.

To barriers and trees,

we shall resist,

we shall not follow,

but as we view our Creator,

standing ever so humbly and patient,

our pride, we are called to swallow.

We must choose within the moments of ripe mornings

and what is freshly brewed,

to focus our eyes on the only One who fully sees us yet remains still in complete admiration,

the only One who makes us new.

And if we keep our eyes locked long enough on the King of all the kings,

we will crash into our line of focus,

and wrecked, our lives will be.

But not a wreckage of shame and all things produced by the absence of the light,

no, a wreckage similar to a crowded, moving and active, construction type of site.

Knocking down what is old, what is no longer necessary,

an absolute wreckage of all the darkness,

all the guilt that we did carry.

There is blood in this crash but no, it is not of our own.

It is blood already bled.

What we see is of the throne.

Upon our skin, we do feel new scabs

but our new skin will arrive,

and it is a miraculous site to see,

what was apart of us for so long,

oh, it will no longer be.

And this crash I speak of,

we must be willing to get into each new day.

With every new sunrise and grass fields of dew,

we were designed for this daily wreckage.

Yes, me

and Yes, you.

We were designed to hold complete focus,

simply on our everlasting Prize,

even as we still stand a long way off,

we are loved far too widely to

be careless of the reflection in our eyes.

Don’t let others chuckle at your big plans. Well let them laugh, but don’t join in.

Years later, let them tell you of how they settled. And all you’ll do is grin.

Don’t let them tell you, there is no security. For you will find your way.

Don’t let them tell you there is no money in creativity. Allow your art to have its say.

You will have to grow. The top is waiting. It awaits just like a climb.

But take note if you draw on the table, switch imaginary chords while your words, they tend to rhyme.

Maybe on the side for a while. Do your craft or do your writing.

But don’t let them allow you to confuse the process alone with the adjective, one you view as simply self describing.

Take your paints. Or lift your pin. Whatever it takes, to let the light in.

“Do not let anyone ever tell you that you can’t make a living with your art.” A man, he said one day. Who says you can’t have it all?

But if you can’t? What would you return, your happiness or the abundance of your pay?

And never should we do what we love, to simply have a larger pocket. But always should we give ourselves the chance to be real, to be authentic, to view our joy surely skyrocket.

We need doctors and lawyers and policemen, we need them too. But we also need painters, and writers. We need volunteers to paint the grounds, to paint them different hues of blue.

There is a far less traveled road if your mind is one painted in color or in accordance to its own beat. There is a road basked in music notes and sketches. There is a road out there just praying for your feet.

If your hands need to move and sculpt the uncreated. If your mouth wants to flood the room in the vocals of your own. If a paint brush in your hand, just lovingly feels like home, there is a far less traveled road, just begging you to roam.

Are they truly patient and kind

or is your lie so constant,

that you have chosen to view blind?

Do they treat you as if you are chosen simply by them,

or chosen by One far superior?

Do they control you with their carelessness,

begging that you play the role, inferior?

Do they celebrate your mind and soul more than they do a feature?

Do they submit themselves to the Lord,

or do you drag them to the Teacher?

Would they show up if you were not in sight

or have they personally chosen to fear their Creator,

have they, alone, chosen the good fight?

Do they speak to you as if they keep record of your messes,

or do they celebrate you in your freedom, honoring your inheritance of eternal successes?

Do they overflow with wisdom to every man they meet?

Do they wake up, with their actions aligning with Jesus’ hands and feet?

Do they treat you as if you are worthy of more than sexual lust?

Do they act as a reminder to you, that all on this earth, will eventually fade to rust?

Do you love them because you love them

or because they are well known alone?

Is the foundation of it all friendship and truth

or a chaotic freedom in youth?

Are you with them because you feel as if you belong to them,

with simply no new land to roam?

Are you with them because you feel called to them in love

or because you are too fearful of leaving home?

You gave me the sunset, but I asked for the clouds.

You gifted me a symphony of love, but I longed, a simple sound.

You passed on to me the seas, but I wanted only a drop of rain.

You delivered a resolution, but I felt as I needed, only a temporary cure of pain.

You donated the galaxy to my soul, but one star, I thought, would have been enough for me.

Yet in my cravings of mere imitations, you whisper, “Bind my wandering heart to thee.”

I desired the knockoffs and the mockery of You.

I cried for the never enough, the miniscule, and untrue.

You saved for me the mountains while I was out climbing the hills.

You pointed to the beauty of restrictions while I waved around my most free of all the will.

You gave me the heavens in total as I asked for the location of this earth.

Too many restart buttons I felt destined for but not earned, given was rebirth.

Tapping my finger against my order, it felt lighter than my expectations.

I was aware I asked not for much and for it all at once,

but I was far too empty for any area of celebrations.

And I indeed was the one asking for a cup half way full,

but you allowed it to overflow.

And to ponder over how much halfness my life counted out,

just before the fullness, I would know.

Remain in me,

As I also remain in you.

Like waters within the falls,

I ask to be not separate,

but a vision of unified view.

My Father is the Vinedresser.

To sing thy grace,

my heart asks for yours to be tuned.

While He promises to take the good branches of myself,

and allows my soul to prune.

My sheep hear my voice and I know them.

And they follow me.

And on His robe and on His thigh,

He has a name written, King of Kings. 

As it is written,

I reclined with the broken and wept with the weary.

As it is written,

I do not merely love with my whole being, with a solid form of fiery.

Apart of me it is, yet only because

a trinity I am intertwined within.

Yes, I am and I am with

The three that are above-

Apart of me it is, yet only because

We are one and God-

Your God, your Father,

Your Maker- He is the core and name of love.

I casted out the seekers of judgement upon the adulterous woman,

because the love of her Creator was far grander than

what she had done.

For her, I stood.

 In her eyes, I deeply knew the shame that was in her.

          While, I came not to call the righteous, but I came to call the sinners.

For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,

For all have turned away and chosen various Lords,

but to my children, I will say

you are given the helmet of salvation and let the spirit be your sword.

To my children I will say,

my offspring, how abundantly loved and adored.

I call you beautiful and mine.

Forever I will call,

Forever I will sacrifice,

Forever, I take your fall.

But my children, if you have seen-

I ask how can you keep choosing to ignore,

the blood I have shed for the awakening of your soul?

I ask my children, how can you glance at true life

and choose the continuation of emptiness?

the antithesis of fulfillment

of this endless, infinite hole?

Take up your cross and follow me.

If you so desire,

For there is nothing but fullness and promise,

For there is no thing higher.

Come home to me I ask

while I call out your name.

And if you choose,

I will say

Bring quickly the best robe,

and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand,

and shoes on his feet.

And bring to us the fattest of calfs,

in this celebration, we will eat.

Dead you were, but now alive,

my son, you purely stand.

And now in the residency of eternity,

your name not forgotten, as it is written,

as it is written upon my hand.

So, now go into all the world

and preach the gospel to all creation.

Like an earthly father, I am most joyous when

all of my children, they are home.

Preach what is written in

all the lands I allow your feet to roam.

I have put my spirit in you,

so you can be set free.

I have taken up residence,

so your eyes, now may they see.

Now remain in me,

As I also remain in you.

So, now go into all the world

and preach the gospel to all creation.

I have loved you. I keep loving you.

But to your brothers and sisters too.

For I have said, “all creation.”

My call to you as chosen is simple,

For I have said, “all creation.”

Therefore go and make disciples

of not one, but of all nations.

 

“Perhaps if man could realize how similarly the blood of flesh appeared, regardless of what weapon called the blood, he would be more prone to place love at top priority. Perhaps if he knew not merely intellectually, but spiritually, that deep pain does not discriminate. Then, perhaps.”

The lowest potential results, what would you say they’d be? When I decide to jump, use my lungs, to say what I believe. The lowest potential results, what would you say they’d be?

If I was to choose the road less traveled and simply ask, well who then would I be? Because I know that person, equipped with trials and familiar with failure would hold the doors with overcoming keys.

To never connect our fears with our longings, how ever could that be? Obsessed with comfortability, I sit upon my couch. I stay touching the walls, my finger tips upon the doorknob, tell me, “just come out.” And I live in fear when I know true Love, when will I learn to shout?

And if our God is One of power, having created us all, why do I refuse the power and say, “No, I’ll just stay small.” Because to shrink for servanthood is beautiful, it’s true but to shrink for the crowd’s acceptance, where will your love be going to? We were gifted confidence but perhaps it was not unwrapped.

We were gifted the direction of power and boldness but perhaps we forgot the map. To live in love, not fear. He declares our hearts this path. It is simply and purely love, not an equation of some math. A fearless life is not deserving yet He gives it out of grace. A life of freedom breaks us from the chains, the chains of the constant, worldly chase.

For a perfect man took on the cross, not for nothing but for our hearts to be set free. For a perfect man wants us to jump, to speak, to be real. For a perfect man declares our blinded fear to see. Don’t let others chuckle at your big plans. Well let them laugh, but don’t join in.


Years later, let them tell you of how they settled. And all you’ll do is grin.

Don’t let them tell you, there is no security. For you will find your way.

Don’t let them tell you there is no money in creativity. Allow your art to have its say.

You will have to grow. The top is waiting. It awaits just like a climb.

But take note if you draw on the table, switch imaginary chords while your words, they tend to rhyme.

Maybe on the side for a while. Do your craft or do your writing.

But don’t let them allow you to confuse the process alone with the adjective, one you view as simply self describing.

Take your paints. Or lift your pin. Whatever it takes, to let the light in.

“Do not let anyone ever tell you that you can’t make a living with your art.” A man, he said one day. Who says you can’t have it all?

But if you can’t? What would you return, your happiness or the abundance of your pay?

And never should we do what we love, to simply have a larger pocket. But always should we give ourselves the chance to be real, to be authentic, to view our joy surely skyrocket.

We need doctors and lawyers and policemen, we need them too. But we also need painters, and writers. We need volunteers to paint the grounds, to paint them different hues of blue.

There is a far less traveled road if your mind is one painted in color or in accordance to its own beat. There is a road basked in music notes and sketches. There is a road out there just praying for your feet.

If your hands need to move and sculpt the uncreated. If your mouth wants to flood the room in the vocals of your own. If a paint brush in your hand, just lovingly feels like home, there is a far less traveled road, just begging you to roam.


I have loved. And then hated.

But the feelings, they all faded.

I just longed for something that’s real.

I have been temporarily known.

And planted in a home.

But my identity, still masked in fear.

I have been complimented with materialistic hype.

I have been insulted, impaired with dislike.

But that was not the adventure I craved.

I have climbed mountains and trees.

And existed in waterfalls and seas.

But my yearning was for a touch more true.

I’ve seen different lands and made my own plans.

But the attempted joy’s moments were only so few.

Simply, Nothing was filling my soul.

I was an empty jar, sitting outside its superior.

Simply trying to fill my own hole.

I wanted to be seen and completely known.

But by those who sit on couches.

Not by the One whose centered on His throne.

My end goal was correct, to be fully known and loved.

But my audience needed an edit.

To Him, who sacrificed perfection for my endless messiness,

To Him, I gave no credit.

I ran to people.

And to my phone.

I ran to my school.

But not my home.

I cried out to be fixed.

To finally be solved.

As if I was a math equation,

As if through myself, my fullness could then evolve.

But then in Summer,

one mid July,

I was presented the choice of a life with reply.

I heard a familiar story

but one so distant from my heart.

One of Someone who loved me so widely,

that he would provide an entirely new start.

And a journal page was filled that night,

on that Fatherly loved I had always longed for,

that Fatherly loved that shouted,

“It is me!”

“I am Yours. It’s me!”

“I am that more!”

That more you have been looking for,

the more you have been hungry for.

And two days passed as I sat upon a boulder,

the mountains, my line of target,

and there, I decided to let God be God.

To allow Him to be my fatherly shoulder.

And in the moment, I understood all He had created

was and is and will be beautiful

and pure.

And all the mess in the world, is by us or them,

all the sin we are called to hate, is by him or

it is by her.

And at that lake, I was told I could allow myself,

allow myself to only play the role of a human.

No longer, my own God.

I was told it was more than okay to be chaos and flawed.

And it’s not to say I have never returned to others again.

It’s not say that I am far holier because I am aware my heart still steadily holds its sin.

But now do I live in awareness that there is no record held of my mess at all.

That my messy table has been cleared and cleaned.

So now, do I attempt to live as if my blindfold has been removed.

But now, can I live as if I have seen.


Are they truly patient and kind

or is your lie so constant,

that you have chosen to view blind?

Do they treat you as if you are chosen simply by them,

or chosen by One far superior?

Do they control you with their carelessness,

begging that you play the role, inferior?

Do they celebrate your mind and soul more than they do a feature?

Do they submit themselves to the Lord,

or do you drag them to the Teacher?

Would they show up if you were not in sight

or have they personally chosen to fear their Creator,

have they, alone, chosen the good fight?

Do they speak to you as if they keep record of your messes,

or do they celebrate you in your freedom, honoring your inheritance of eternal successes?

Do they overflow with wisdom to every man they meet?

Do they wake up, with their actions aligning with Jesus’ hands and feet?

Do they treat you as if you are worthy of more than sexual lust?

Do they act as a reminder to you, that all on this earth, will eventually fade to rust?

Do you love them because you love them

or because they are well known alone?

Is the foundation of it all friendship and truth

or a chaotic freedom in youth?

Are you with them because you feel as if you belong to them,

with simply no new land to roam?

Are you with them because you feel called to them in love

or because you are too fearful of leaving home?


You gave me the sunset, but I asked for the clouds.

You gifted me a symphony of love, but I longed, a simple sound.

You passed on to me the seas, but I wanted only a drop of rain.

You delivered a resolution, but I felt as I needed, only a temporary cure of pain.

You donated the galaxy to my soul, but one star, I thought, would have been enough for me.

Yet in my cravings of mere imitations, you whisper, “Bind my wandering heart to thee.”

I desired the knockoffs and the mockery of You.

I cried for the never enough, the miniscule, and untrue.

You saved for me the mountains while I was out climbing the hills.

You pointed to the beauty of restrictions while I waved around my most free of all the will.

You gave me the heavens in total as I asked for the location of this earth.

Too many restart buttons I felt destined for but not earned, given was rebirth.

Tapping my finger against my order, it felt lighter than my expectations.

I was aware I asked not for much and for it all at once,

but I was far too empty for any area of celebrations.

And I indeed was the one asking for a cup half way full,

but you allowed it to overflow.

And to ponder over how much halfness my life counted out,

just before the fullness, I would know.


Oh, but perhaps you’re not meant to be a gas station

accepting short stops and farewells within a short amount of time.

Perhaps loving someone should feel more like

 a side by side walk through the forest,

not a one man, exhausting kind of climb.

Oh, but, perhaps you’re,

not created to have others only sprint to you when they notice they’re on low.

Not meant,

 for giving away all your entirety so another being, they may flow.

And perhaps you were meant to be a human,

a daughter or son of the Creator and King,

perhaps a relationship of love mimicking the gospel,

to you, He solely desires to bring.

And perhaps we are far too eager for attention from another human soul,

perhaps we forget this world wasn’t created,

so we could fit that mold.

Perhaps we are not gas stations, as people ignore our names

and only seek the closest,

as if our love is some countdown type of game.

Perhaps they’ll break down before they get to us,

so they lean all weight upon the accelerator.

Perhaps we’re not meant to pour out as we are passed by.

Oh, but perhaps you’re not meant to be a gas station,

Perhaps you’re meant for something much greater.


“As divided as ever,”

but we do not let it digest.

To replace the throne with male or female,

despite their name,

we will end finding

no rest.

To base our love for others on current circumstances,

we are following no call.

To only hug and celebrate those who our words agree with,

we can’t claim the title of one for love,

not in the slightest,

not at all.

We are people given voice

and it should never be muted.

But how loudly are we raising our opinions,

and how softly are we whispering

where we tell ourselves we are being rooted.

A temporary title,

which you are allowed to worship or despise.

But how much personal effort it is,

to fall into the suffering of land on either side of those lies?

If we were half as eager to show compassion

and accept all of man, not simply some

as we are about posting of our awe or fury of this one,

media obsessed and honored outcome.

Perhaps closer to heaven on earth this world would seem,

if we had our eyes fixed on what is eternal

and not what we categorize, mainstream.

A voice given to us to say what we believe,

but not given to us to speak hatred to those

who don’t see what we see.

We are called to do what is right and pursue love and respect.

But we cannot be hateful when fighting for what is right-

If we are chasing light with flames,

our pursuit will continue to continue staying wrecked.

For Jesus would stand firm in His faith and be steady in reason,

but can we faithfully say, Jesus would be one ready for slander

in the brokenness of season?

“But love your enemies,” He speaks,

for this advice does not fade,

may we ask ourselves,

in the end, what is all for me,

that will be weighed?

You were created with a mind full of wonder

and stance but may we be reminded,

no man was made to come in contact with the gospel

as the cruelty of this world continues to make his view blinded.

Have your voice because a gift to you, it has been handed.

But cease the pursuit of the evil infused into your words,

for they leave others made in His image,

only further wounded and stranded.

True power is not held in who you vote for or even in who you protest,

True power is in the assurance that you nor I was

created in a complex yet raw type of jest.

And if this is true,

then our eternal, internal security should lead us above.

Above hate,

above slander,

above name calling,

above, we shall rise, above.

Because this county is not in need of an overflow of aggressive opinions,

above, we shall rise, above,

what we need is so simple that it has become ignored,

and in this ignorance, what

as humans, do we seem to be moving toward?

above, we shall rise, above,

because how desperately, in this country,

do we need to fight for our

regardless sense of acceptance,

we shall rise above,

how desperately in this country do we need to regain

just our willingness to love?


Come this summer, some of us will cross state boarders and we will all start brand new.

Come the end of August, we will no longer be among one another or at best, only know a few.

Come this summer the everlasting  present will only be found in photographs upon the frames in our new dorms.

Come the end of August, our comfortability in the midst of one another will no longer be the norm.

But it is not the end of August nor the present of next fall.

As of now, we can see one another’s faces.

As of now, we are eye to eye; not a long distance kind of call.

We are here. It is happening. It is real.

I am here. You are here.; both carrying the incredibility it is to simply stop and feel.

So let us choose the present over distance potentials in our minds.

Let us find rest in the now; not in the future moments, celebrations and friendly greeting lines.

Let us live in the moment, not in the months up and coming.

We are here now. Let us rest in the present.

May we pause and cease the running.

Because in the blink of an eye, bags will be packed and our souls, they will be scattered.

But we are here now. All together. May we love. May we laugh. May we know the present mattered.


Not too fat, not too bright.

Not too loud, not too right.

You are not too outgoing.

And you are not too shy.

You are not too emotional.

Just go ahead and cry.

You are not too religious.

You are not too detailed.

You are not too humble,

even when you have failed.

They will tell you

you have it all wrong.

They will tell you,

you are too too.

They will tell tell you to do it like them.

To just wait and take their cue.

You don’t have too many freckles on your face.

You are a human being.

Don’t let them make you feel guilty;

as if you take up too much space.

Eat what you want.

Don’t allow them to say that you are too healthy.

Be private if you’d like.

Don’t let the words in, that you are just too stealthy.

Stop changing for others.

Don’t let them get their way.

Stop shifting for onlookers.

Know you’re right today.

Stop cutting yourself down

and trying to please them all.

Stop cutting yourself down.

You’ll find yourself too small.

Stop labeling yourself as too weak.

Don’t you dare let them tell you, you are too strong.

Stop fixing every inch of

yourself, pleasing them

to get along.

Stop taking back the words you meant back

because the others don’t agree.

Stop altering yourself for the ones you love,

for your friends and your family.

Cease to hold back in fear of being too.

You will be too this in her mind and too that in his.

Know none of it is true.

Stop giving up all that you are

for being all they desire.

Stop pushing aside your core.

Stop giving up your fire.


I will grow and stretch myself not for this world; not for an endless amount of egotistic fraud. I will accept myself as enough and only for my God.

I will not fret about my eyes or wonder if my attempts do meet. Only will I worry of my awareness- to know that I am free.

I will not ponder if my words rest accepted in the humans of the land. Only will I pray that I’m able to share a love so sweet and grand.

And I will not mind if my name is whispered by all the people’s tongues. Because I know the same name is admired by the designer of their lungs.

I will wear the fabric that I believe is true and representative of me. I will not be called to sprint so fast to the styles that will flee.

I will not waste my money on the ways of you, the ways of me. I will not waste my time, but use it to tell them that they are more than seen.

I will not study my reflection in the broken kind of frame. I will study my reflection in Him, the One who knows my name.

I will trust that my planning is nothing compared to the details of my God. I will know I have no direction and His never will be flawed.

I will not be ashamed of who I once was or who I be. I will be shameless of who I am, for who He is, so that others, they may see.

I will use what I have been undeservingly given to bring to Him all the fame. I will take what He has brought me only to bring glory to His name.

I will not apologize for who He has created me to be. I will not feel guilty for being One who is alive. To only focus on things eternal, for that is what I strive.

And I will wait patiently knowing that I am dust without Him. And I will wait trustingly knowing my life does not belong to them. And I will attempt to follow so closely the One following me, the One pursuing you. I will attempt to love so dearly the One who makes me new.


A floating, sinking soul was I, in the fiercest of the waves.

A trembling, anxious body was I, longing to be saved.

A drifting rebel was I, running from the word.

Yet, He declared that I know thee and that His truth be heard.

A steady and forgiving power was He, in my mess of heart.

A loving and just father, was He, who allowed my life to start.

A runner from His glory, was I, basking in my own.

A runner towards me, Was He, no longer I, alone.

An angry and consumed mind, was I, seeking to be seen.

A noticing and caring creator, was He, the One who rinsed me clean.

A scattered and stressed human, was I, finding life in all the earth.

A renewing King of kings, was He, the one who gave me birth.

A doubting, saddened failure, was I, resisting love alone.

A persistent and pursuing Lord, was He, the one that led me home.

A promising and truthful savior, was He in my brokenness of sin.

A good and gracious father, was He, the beginning and the end.


Everyone has either recently entered a metaphoric war, are in the midst of one or have one to come. While we know life is inevitably tough for all, we disregard this while we judge and question some. Be gentle, be a human, be kind, be real, the world is tough enough. There are already enough bruises and wounds to heal.


I needed to be useful, to be moving and alive. I needed to find purpose, to be determined and to strive. I searched high and low for my reason of my living, until I realized, my only true purpose, like anyone, was to come into this world ready to love, ready for giving.


I never desired surface, yet my thoughtless pen strokes and words continually failed to cut deep. I wanted to expose myself but never when anxiety controlled my heart and never when i weeped. I craved particular vulnerability, i wanted to keep something mine. I wanted to shout if there was a guaranteed applause, otherwise i would hide. I wanted people to hear my words, but only if they would agree. I wanted my words to be meaningful, words that would make no body flee. That was not courage. no, that was nothing at all. That was living cowardly, and i had never craved that at all. I decided to be open, to say what I believed. I decided to say what I meant, i realized i wanted a fight. I decided to be vulnerable, because I decided to write.


Don’t settle for a spouse. Don’t settle for a view. Don’t settle for anything that  is surely below you. Don’t settle for your backup, don’t settle for the rest, don’t settle for anything, that for your heart, is simply not the best.


Slip up your sleeves, show them your scars. Expose your mind, others’ troubles are never too far. Pull back your hair, show them the bruise, rip off the disguise, I haven’t known honesty to lose. Truth and realness are not an error but an alluring vision of light, let your heart be genuine, don’t create a wall within your soul, don’t build a personal war, don’t train an army for that fight.


“I’ll do it in a year, the climax can wait. I’ll begin to live later on, and later on, i’ll give you the date. I’m waiting to make history, I’m waiting to be known, I’m waiting for the unimaginable, I’m waiting for my throne. I’m hoping for the best, and I expect it all. I’m hoping for the most wondrous climbs, not expecting any falls.” Get up and get to it, get to the checking off your bucket list, get up and get excited, no meaningful life was also empty and shortsighted. The seconds are moments in disguise, and the long days make up the short years. Live in the moment of truth, not in the frozen snapshot of fear. The world you make is either your creation or your sharpened knife. Choose not the couch, but the mountains. Choose not the survival, but the life.


A 4.0, a hearty laugh, take your pick it’s all you’ll have. An A this year, or a non judging heart, it’s your choice and it’s your start. A perfect score, or a joy that is full, go ahead, pick your soul. Grades are grades and that is all they will be, they are numbers that we continuously reach for,  a replacement of joy set so high in the tree. What is your rank or what is your name? People will remember your love and your feel, your SAT score does not claim your fame. Your application won’t ask, but how genuine is your love? That is more significant than any grade listed above.


From my father I have learned that humor is quite necessary, from my father I have learned that we must remain joyous despite the stress we carry. From my father I have learned it is alright to continue laughing three hours past the time a joke was created, from my father I have learned that our actions often speak the words in our hearts that remain buried and unstated. From my father I have learned that working hard is not an option, from my father I have learned that the greatest place you could put your feet is indeed, in the heart of Austin. From my father I have been inspired to have a pile of books by my bed, from my father I have inherited the importance of having your own time and place, your own hideout and shed. From my father I have learned to put my “shoulds” before my “coulds,” from my father I have learned and from my father I am good.


Why have we woken up in the middle of the night with the stress of a test weighing our stomachs down with fear? Why have we changed our outfit last minute in order to impress people we are not loved by or near? Why have we argued over who was in the wrong and who tends to always out fight? Why have we tapped our feet before speaking in front of other mortal beings, as if they are more perfected, as if no words could mend us and make us sound right. Why have we turned our head when failure tried to look at us dead in the eye, why do we let these little mess ups consume us, why do we program ourselves to fear, will these anxieties have depth to me when I am fading from this earth, when my heart is dimming, when my body prepares to die? We should worry about our families, their health and their being, we should worry about our friends, how happy their hearts are beating, we should worry about if we are putting good or evil forth into the world each day, we should worry if we are trying hard enough, we should worry that people are more than okay, we should worry about those who are sick, and celebrate those who have arrived, we must keep our focus on the big picture, not the doubts that bounce in our minds. Do not let those thoughts paralyze you and allow you to only survive.


It is not about coming in first, but having the humility to congratulate the rest. It is not about getting the perfect score, it’s knowing you stayed up late, only to wake up early and try your very best. It’s not about how many people will approve of your choices, but how much joy you receive from your decision, it is not about how grand you can be compared to all the others, but how deep you grow into the person you long to be, to fulfill all your aspirations, to shape your life to be the world you long to see.


Do what gives you peace, what let’s you awake with a calm heart and a refreshed mind, do not care if this is what gives other peace; although we all are one, there is no one identical to your kind. Read and rain may conceal the burden of pain, or painting and tea may be what lets you see. Gift yourself with time to recharge and refuel, you are meant to slow down. Often times our fluorescent red needs to be contrasted by an airy white or a subtle brown.


Learn to listen to that voice, the subtle one kept in the back of your mind, the one you strive to hear at your broken down moments and your abandoned nights in time. It’s the one that whispers at the eleventh hour and on your twenty second mile, listen to that voice you hear when you have been wresting with yourself for a while. Listen to that voice that implies, “just a little bit further,” or “just one or two more,” the voice that shouts, “you have all you need for this,” supported by all your  left over inspiration, forgotten motivation sealed, forgotten and stored. Listen to, “I believe in you,” and “keep pushing,” “keep going,”  and “you’re doing just great,” listen to all those voices, those faint mutters tend to lead us to our fate.


It all connects some how, in an unfamiliar way, the pain makes sense after it is buried in the soil, when it is packed and sent away. Your past stress was there for a reason, for you will someday discover. All the visions that didn’t work out, the reasons you will uncover. Even the running late panics and plans not working out, there is more water along this stream and distance on this route. All you have and all you are is no mistake, no flaw in the stars. All the views you shake hands with and all the people you see, none of it is a coincidence. All you have is destined, all you have is meant to be.


Enough countdowns to Friday and takeoffs for trips, enough waiting for the next chapter, hoping for the lifeless page to flip. Enough waiting for the next New Year’s or the next life changing time. Enough sitting tight for your soul mate, enough rehearsing all your lines. Enough standing by for moments, or a flight to somewhere greater, enough falling in love with what is coming to you, a potential lust for later. The present is here, that is all that we know, enjoy the sunshine when it shines and the snowflakes when it snows. Enjoy breakfast when you wake, and the feel of dirt on the walks you take. Put all your energy into whatever is, not whatever it will be. Enjoy the salt water on your skin in the ocean, enjoy whatever, at that moment, your eyes are allowed to see. Enjoy the right now, the currently and present. Give focus on whatever color your life may be at the moment, even the darkest shade or tint. So whatever is happening, be all there, do not let yourself fade away into a gallery of all you might say, the people you may know, or the worlds you might see. Maybe we never think how good life is, because we are so focused on how incredible it may be.


Beauty plays the same role as love in our minds, we all have a different take on it, but the gist of it remains. To her beauty is freckles and jawlines, to him it is a gallery of mountains drenched in the heaviest of rains. To them, beauty is their newborn with no mistakes yet in her soul, to him beauty is his wife’s genuinely big laugh, a sound so sincere and whole. To me beauty is whatever is unapolegetic of whatever it might be; no held back jokes, or sugar coating, quirky enough to scramble their words, but not treasuring their mess enough to be anything near unseen. Only half the apologies or pardons that we hear, need to be said. Each time we apologize for who we are, we nourish this hungry, insecure part of us that begs to be fed. Beauty is knowing who you are, and not stopping to make sure it is okay with each person that we pass, beauty is having enough clarity to set aside the masks.


Too much is questionable and studied too far, is there other life out there, just at some stop among the stars? There are the simple questions that bounce in our heads, like why people ask to ask a question, or why there are million dollar weddings while some go unfed. I wonder the little wonders like what the probability of my heart beating is, what death feels like and how many times I have rehearsed what i’ve said. I wonder why some people can stand with a straight face at a funeral while someone else is crying at the back of a chick flick, I wonder how much of my life I will truly remember and what percentage of americans can drive a stick. If these little questions are unanswered to me, I don’t see why I could doubt something, a man and a place that I can not see. People are intelligent enough to build cars and land upon the moon, to remember a song twenty years after they had last heard the foot-tapping tune, but there is something beyond our intellect, even the smartest ones alive. There is science, with formulas and written explanations, there is evolution, a backed up, sensible imitation. There are too many questions floating, like where dreams come from and why several humans have more life tragedies than some. I ponder strings of words like where creativity originates or why a shout is called a shout, there is just too much lingering, there are just too many minor uncertainties to answer with a doubt.


If it makes your hands shake, your heart beat or your throat dry. If it sets butterflies free in the pit of your gut, if it makes you lose personality, sit so silent and shy. If it makes you rise up in the dead of the night with notes in your head so over analyzed, if it gets to a point where the idea is now just powerless and paralyzed, if it allows you to develop a fear of only fear alone. If the stretch is so strained and troubled that while lying in your bed, you begin to miss home. If you find yourself here with the question of yes or no, know that whatever scares you, tends to lead you to where you need to go.


What will matter when you are ninety five, with your life placed behind you, joining together all the moments you felt more than existent, but that you felt alive? It won’t matter what university you recorded down on your applications or the political party you were for. It won’t matter what your paycheck read, all these things never defined who you were, faultlessly, at your core. Your energy will matter and be remembered too, your famous lines of advice will be written down, no matter how blunt or few. Your stories will stay and be repeated again, your love will be passed down. It won’t matter what could have, it will matter what has been. No one will remember the ounce of fat you stressed over or the scar beneath your eye that was covered each morning with repetitive, fabricated and bruising lines of lies. It won’t matter if you failed because we have all failed in a hopeless, defenseless kind of way. There is a lot that matters in this world, a lot that you must not let rot away. There are souls that demand love and places that hint for screws to be tightened, many of these ideas that cross your mind need to be dried out, to be turned down and lightened. You must not analyze life in such depth, it was meant to be lived, it was meant to be enjoyed. Out there, lies many contemplations that long to be created, but also a few that must be departed and destroyed. So, in the end it will not matter what gave you grief, but what gave you light, in the end it will only matter who you love, not who you hate; in the end, goodness is the only thing that ever held any weight.


If we are aware that we can create our own monsters and demons, we realize we are the ones who let the skeletons of the past still hang. If we accept the fact that we can paint our own darkness, it is certain, that we are the ones who have power of all the scattered thoughts that criss and cross our brain. We understand- were are the gardeners of our own sadness, only our souls can control the option of letting the monsters win. Then, why can’t we be aware that we can let the love in just the same. We can paint our own attitudes towards all the jobs well done and bulls eyes to mark, if we just start to aim. We tend to underestimate what our mindsets may do and with that, we ignore all potential internal trust. We must let ourselves know, we may only crash, if it is our own hands, that wreck us.


It is true how you say there are too many buildings lathered in all the smoke in the sky. It’s true how you say how sad it is that the trees are replaced, it’s true how you say, fifty years ago, no one would recognize this place. Yet, think of all the sun that still shines and the winds that chimes. Think of all the birds that sing and the skies we can see, all the sunsets to come and sunrises to be. It’s true how I say there is still something to see.


Even if they perfect every motion and ever detailed word, or move with grace in this hectic world, even if their words never seemed to be slurred and their smile is always more than present, even if they seem so beautiful, with their mind so content. A person is a person; no more of a person than you, you are no less or no more than anyone you see, a person good enough to set yourself free.


All seven billion of us have had some days which were god awful, and some days that were better. I tended to remind myself, there has never been a downpour not followed by windless weather. Screams gradually pulled in I love you’s and the broken down car seemed to always begin again. Spilt coffee was cleaned and apologies fled, and all those words that caused such anxiety had now been said. Injuries wilted and the congested mind was sorted out the way they said it would. There were happier days and get through them days, but life was always good.


What wakes us up at four am, with a nonstop mind, is not the same as others. What words brings us joy, are not the same words as our brother’s. What makes our laughter go silent may make another sit in fear. The speeches we write down, our idols may decline to hear. The sights that we cherish, our greatest friends would hate to be shown. Therefore, we may not follow another’s happiness, for it is all our own.


Waste your money, waste your time, but darling- never go wasting your mind.


In May, you were thistle purple and in June and mid July. In August, you were a shade of blue, in September, quite soft and shy. I saw you again in the depths of the cold, you were laughing and bold that night. I saw you once more last weekend, and you were in between a distant gray and an icy kind of white. You used to say to me, everyone is out searching for the bits and pieces that they want to be, to make up their whole; hunting for the last words and traits to complete their unfinished soul. We should invite continual change in, because everything we have been and are and will be, it is all our own, but who we have been and are and will be, has never been set in stone.


We compare our tangled thoughts and messy doubts in our heads to other’s lovely outsides, instead. We notice every flaw within ourselves, when no one else can see. We become so drunk in our worries that only our minds have been shown, we forget that most of the time, all the others are consumed in an appearance of their own. No one cares if you screw up, that’s just how humans are. We set our future so high up on this stage, that all we can focus on is how it seems so distant, so far. We tend to believe everyone cares so much about every twitch, every spill, every little, “I don’t know.” We think that all that other’s can see, are the lowest of our lows. Do not be afraid, screw up, but never be ashamed of all your mistakes, lessons are nothing to set aside, because everyone but yourself, sees you from the outside.


September came fast, but December came faster, and in a year, I traveled, I sang, I wrote, I rode an airplane and traveled by boat. I studied and failed, it snowed and it hailed, but I was always hungry for more. I wanted a trip, a moment, a speech that filled my soul, inspirational quotes, anything I could adore. In that year, I realized I needed to stop waiting for something, that life had already arrived, it had been sitting and waiting for me to stop waiting and realize, I’m here, life and myself had already arrived.


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