there are pieces that are important. pieces we share, pieces we love, pieces we fear, pieces that are hidden.
they are composite of the puzzle that is us and our nature, but we only share the things that we like or are okay or think we ought to, so how can we show the whole confusing, horrible, wonderful, beautiful picture that God created if we don't share all of the pieces?
This is about sharing all of the pieces.

pieces.

Power Chords

does time tick in the same 4/4 time in your mind?
Why is reality a song,
Why isn’t  it to you?
 It cannot cease to exist in momented melodies,
Rapping, nagging, dragging in a breathlessly beautiful way
                It connects to me like
                My soul is singing along;
I can’t help how the notes are within me,
Their very inception engraved along my ribs and seeping into my heart like putrid black permanent ink.

My life will always be the rush forward of a bridge
And the minor chords and the major lifts
And the rushing, pushing, begging beat,   don’tyouhearit?
Can’t you hear that?
How desperate,
How slaved I am and so wonderfully is it wanted,
When it ends
I cry,
I am gone.

(Source: Spotify)

Late

Sometimes it’s the written
                                                       Word
That I need, that waits to speak to me
Until the dark ebbs into a noisy silence
With the crickets that chirp and stars that sparkle and the snores that ensue from surrounding rooms
And the songs that stick to the synapses in my brain like
Triggers

This
Word
Speaks like a wisp of smoke that snakes across the unseen air,
Into the invisible soul,
Into the hidden brain
Into the eyes of the Beholder
Who lives
Inside me.

(Source: Spotify)

the most important thing i have ever written.

bridges

I press the keys,
one at a time,
But only if it’s necessary

A. I feel his hand in my shirt
I pull him along on his skateboard
I stare at him through the window as though (as if) its impossible for him to see me in return, was I really that naïve?
I see he received my message, I stare at the blank space where he didn’t write back.

S. I wear the ring she bought me

K. I smell her breath,
But I feel her shoulder on mine too

D. I feel the weight of the stress not lifted but thickened
How could she be so ridiculous,
How could I be so insensitive?

M. I feel the push of the first move
I feel her fingers
I taste her on my tongue
I see her tears
I hold her hand
I made her smile for once
I made her cry, too
I pray I did not kill God for her

B. I take his Christmas ornaments
I deleted his pictures, most.
He deleted mine
When I see him, sitting next to him on the couch in his living room like our first date that wasn’t a date I can only see the deleted love that lies absent from my heart and hovers around his head as he wonders who I am,
And I wonder who I am
            As I write those poems again,

Every single one of them in their own unformatted lines,
Whether they are genuine is without question but whether I mean them outside of those created moments, I question, (doubt).

L. It hurts me that you begin as they do;
With an extra heartbeat and immediate inspiration of thought
I scribble you into my notebooks and it’s the beginning of the story that’s already been written, read, reread, and discarded, so, whats the point?
I’m desperate to create anew,
I’m wondering if I could change,If I could fail to fall head-over-heals in love with the idea of a heart that doesn’ t exist

Can I fall in love with you for real?
The right way?
The way where I get to know you first, where you are beautiful to me for the mistakes you make and the person you actually are, without pardon? (without pardoning those attributes that fail to meet my expectations?)

I want to wonder whether or not you care for me,
I want to have cold feet,
I want to wait until we avow,
I want to have a ring (a different ring) before I tap ideas into my baby names list,
And I want to be engaged, properly, before my dress is picked
And I want you to say I love you first
And I want to feel it,
For real,
With stuttered heartbeats and brokenness and a oneness in God

The way you showed me, the moment I looked into your eyes and truly met you for the first time, that I deserve,
I hope that I deserve you,
I hope that I am what you deserve.

I press the keys one at a time,
Sometimes twice,
But only if necessary
And minutes into it I realize I was playing a song the whole time
Maybe not one key at a time afterall, sometimes a jumbled mashing, where I tried to quit, but those bridges are beautiful.

We throw our backs and break our bonesto make this place a piece of homeand where does it lead usbut with bruises and scars,and crooked walk?
while God watchesfrom above, He lovesyou enough to make you Home.so let go

We throw our backs and break our bones
to make this place a piece of home
and where does it lead us
but with bruises and scars,
and crooked walk?

while God watches
from above, He loves
you enough to make you Home.
so let go

(Source: -circa, via charleneclaus)

molds

sometimes you shine, and sometimes you hurt. most times you hurt.

but the hurt makes way for something else, it always does. it’s always the most malleable  in the end, you hold a pot in your hands that was once just a block of clay. that is beautiful, that is life.

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