I know You’re here with me


Watching me.

Feeling my fingers

Make that my thumbs

As we lightly push the letters

Gently forming the words

That pour from my heart

That play with my mind

That whisper from my soul

You haunt me

And fill me

I am Your pen

Your fingers

Your thumbs

You are my God

I’m just a dot

Who plays with the words

That make up the story

The story of us.

Poetry is dead?


I’m reblogging but also editing a touch because I kept trying to comment and it wouldn’t post. I don’t know if poetry is dead. The Spirit that inspires it is definitely alive and goes by Allah/Jesus/HolySpirit/God/MotherNature. I think the same Spirit that inspired most religious texts also inspires most poets. It calls itself, The Word, in Genesis 1:1.

Back to the reblog.

Poetry Is dead Death is inevitable, painful and is a rather complicated stage for the living. There is no definite finality of it either, as there …

Poetry is dead

No words


I don’t know how to thank You, Lord for the things You’re doing now.

So I return to my silly blog to get it out somehow.

So much more than I ever dreamt, theses blessings are much more than just Heaven sent.

How is this possible? Am I still in a dream? Surely it isn’t as easy as it would seem.

The truth is You enjoy blowing my mind. True Love like the one we have is so hard to find.

So of course I will bow and follow your lead, and see what You do with Your submissive seed.

Decisions, Decisions


Three decisions, so please help me decide.

If, God had asked me to be someone’s bride. Looks don’t matter, age is relative, and there is so much that I am able to give.

Letter A is an artist, with more talent than me, who has a well toned body, as you can easily see. He and I enjoy many of the same things. Animals in the woods, a bird, as it sings. He can easily pick me up and place me inside a vehicle if we want to go for a ride. A rebel at heart, with a cleaning mindset, which is something that I often forget. He is the only candidate who lives down the street. The other’s I’ve technically yet to meet. He loves me so much and could help in so many ways, but two other candidates still want to play.

Next letter, B, he lives so far away, and I don’t even have a passport today. The other two are Christians, but I believe in Allah God, and even though many of my views are odd, God might be setting this up as His plan. A bridge between Christianity and Islam. He’s gathered up items, like clothing of gold. But one more letter’s tale must be told.

Letter C is crippled, with his own power chair. If we get together the whole world will stare. The thing is, I don’t care, and neither does he. We’ve each already made the news, it comes naturally. He has a beautiful house, and an accessible van. He wants to share with me as much as he can. Which is way more than my life would ever have thought, but God always thinks of the things we do not. Together we could do so much more than what we are individually out here fighting for.

I want to have three, but I think Jesus chose One, so I can rest now, and let God’s will be done.

Slut for Jesus


I guess that’s me. Longing for your touch,

I didn’t know I could love this much

I crave your warm embrace

That smile upon your face.

To hear you breathe my name

I’ll never be the same.

I’m completely whipped it’s true.

So totally Into You.

But since you’re in everyone

I might as well have fun.

To the reader, it’s just a poem, don’t read too much into it. I love Jesus a lot and we have fun playing with words.

Satan Cracks Me Up


I’ve tuned into a Jesus Devotee this year. He’s taken over all of my social media, and the rest of my life. I got saved as a child but after a life of trials had come to the conclusion that we were probably all right.

Then all the stuff earlier this year (see blog)and now I’m a Jesus freak, so, whatever. Anyway, back to Satan. He doesn’t like me because I’m so into Jesus, even though I love Satan too, in some ways.

God and me love everyone. Anyway, the other day he started messing with my ears. Now they ring all the time.

He thinks he can make me forget to tell everyone that Satan exists only in your head. It is hard, and I can’t do it while writing this because I’m looking at a screen.

When I’m done being my head to write, I’m going to tell my brain to shut up and to quit being such a narcissist. Then I’m going to close my eyes and be my body and soul. You can too.

Will there ever be enough time?


To be your love, and You be mine.

To live in laughter, brave and free.

Exactly who I was meant to be.

To meet all my heroes who lived long ago.

Their crazy life stories so that we would know.

Our time here is so short. It’s only one act.

We one day will be dead, it’s a simple fact.

Which makes the short torments of each little life

Feel less like the stab of eternity’s knife.

So celebrate each day, no matter how it ends,

And find me in Heaven and let’s be friends.

I’ll be in the castle with slides coming out of the windows.

Temperature


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Sometimes I feel my emotional temperature rising. Minor irritation turns to annoyance turns to frustration and I feel anger’s heat approaching.

This time I managed to stop and recognize the temperature change for what it is. an opportunity to learn more about myself and others and about the interactions between us all. I survived. This time…

Reality 


I thought you were never going to disappear.

Again…

I thought you loved me too;

At least in some weird way.

I thought we were meant to be.

We were, 

If only for a moment.

We needed each other.

Guess we don’t anymore.

Or do we?

I guess I’ll never know

Or will I?

The choice is yours.

I’ll always love you.

But I’m tired of always being the one

To reach out,

To miss you,

To think about us

If there ever was an us

Perhaps you were a figment of my imagination all along

Never really real.

Is anything?