Social Slaves

How much happier would we be if we learned to breathe on our own again?

Unplugged our digital oxygen tanks,

And remembered what made our hearts vibrate like foghorns.

What if we fed on honeysuckle-speckled fields

And sipped in stars next to our love?

What if we showed up to our lives instead of showing them off?


Honeyed Aftertaste

Inspiration–well, I guess that’s the enigma.

Sometimes it stalks us just as an understudy waits for his chance to be noticed,

Patiently mouthing every line verbatim while hidden behind mildew curtains.

Often times, a fire waits to erupt until one is ready for it.

Wet wood won’t birth a spark until every part is fashioned; ready for its purpose.

Poetry doesn’t always feel good until it’s been given time to settle.

A medicine that doesn’t work–until it does.

For now, I’ll slouch back and move on with a sour stomach,

Hoping for a honeyed aftertaste.


Let Well Enough Alone

Cracked heels 

Started with calloused skin.

But as I tried to peel away dead cells

The cracks became crevices–dug-out little rabbit holes burrowed in my foot.

An uneven landscape of newborn peaks and ancient ruins.

Jaunty shuffles through the carpet whilst living a cautionary tale.

I guess one should know the difference between what needs replacing and what just needs glue.

Claire De Lune

Old reveries dust themselves off

To the pitch of d-flat major.

Paradoxical can be cathartic; sweet with a melancholy aftertaste.

God pulls the tides by lunar strings,

Weaving patterns through the swelling crests,

Perfectly orchestrating each drop into submission.

It’s eyes adjusting to the unfiltered light,

While bumbling through a meadow speckled in wildflowers—

Bursting red, purple, and yellow life!

You’ve not remembered their name for two decades, but yet you’ve loved them.

At first glance, you’ve reasoned you don’t need a name to love something inexplicably.

Not Desolate

On a dark night outside and inside, I plaster myself to my Heavenly Father’s promises for my life.

:screams:” It doesn’t matter how I feel. It doesn’t matter what I see. My hope will always be in Your promises to me.”

Posted in OCD