CPoetry

i went to a place in my head. in that place i met God. i said, "God, i have doubts, troubles, and fears." then God said, Look down. at my feet, a white flower grew through sand. ::: love is an old lady with a loud mouth whom cannot stop talking about the good ole days. ::: 6:28 p.m. no wind. the sun peaks from behind the trees' waists on this spring afternoon. 100 Years by Five for Fighting begins to play; the piano continues the melody of the day before me. I'm fifteen for a moment... the lyrics arrive like a telegram, reminding me of the miracle of beauty--- of the miracle in this miracle of this moment inside living.

we have to do it; the muscles in our hands are begging for release. if we wish to be more hospitable to others, we must abandon the knob; it is a celebration in-and-of-itself for us to unlatch the door; yet, it is of the highest vulnerability for us to leave the door                 open. ::: it is a pitcher; one that patiently waited on the shelf. ready to be poured. cast by a hand, it is pouring out liquid foreign to me until now. it continues to pour, and the angle climbs in its acuity. the faster and faster it pours. ~ what about emptiness? will it ever be emptied entirely? is vacancy the surest way to knowing why, now, love chooses to be poured? ::: this shelter, this building. this place i used to call "home". is mine no longer. a place i have outgrown. i said to heaven a time ago, "tell me there is more than these four walls i own." the heav...

sending love to the C-block prison cell of its word form deteriorates its presence exponentially; it is best experienced as an unidentified, untitled force whose power is exercised by all who know---it was from this very force they were conceived. ::: push your heart into a corner and tell it, "we have to start here." unless it accepts its starting point, you must keep your heart outside of your chest and say again, "we have to start here." ~ once your heart has accepted its starting point, you will, again, find it residing beneath your ribs crying in the first moment of its healing. ::: denial is a primitive coping mechanism; it is effective--- occasionally too much so. You, however, make me feeling some more primitive, more innate, more intuitive, more explicit, itself so true--- it is denied by denial. ::: my fingers have bled twisting this basket...

take what you and only your face in the mirror know about you--- those parts of you where shame, self-deprecation, fear, rumination, and regret reside. imagine them, all inching along as one synchronous black and neon yellow stripped caterpillar in the palm of your hand.      why do you hold it so gently?      why do you hold it at all? close your eyes, and cover the caterpillar in the darkness of time, grace, forgiveness, and unconditional self amor. take what you and only your face in the mirror know about you... and release that butterfly into the air; liberate yourself from those things that were never meant to stay but were always destined for flight--- destined to be let go. ::: at a rowdy Irish bar,  adults raise their voices so they can be heard over other adult voices. at an adventurous playground, children raise their voices not to supersede their friends' voices, but to break the sound ...

not the base, nor the body. not the chord, nor the shade. oh yes, absolute is the light that is you; worthy of a base. worthy of a body. worthy of a connection. but never worthy of being covered. ::: you are to know love... to spread love...      to be love...                   ::: to carry the ocean on my back, i cannot. ---is there a fail-safe once my knees break? Yes. Let them break. For you are a grain of sand  on My back. I hold all of the worlds---all of the weights. I am the Foundation on which your knees may fall. I nearly beg for you to fall unto Me. As only by this act, can I carry you completely. I cannot carry a grain of sand that believes is must carry the ocean. When you are ready, let your knees break and fall unto them. Only then, will you become a grain of sand that rests on My shore. In commitment, I will keep you from drowning...

on high you stand, when there is all but your glory. do take a look around; bounty cannot be truly bountiful if joy is forgotten as most joyful among many. ::: i can't believe i committed to this. let's get this straight, ok? so we can all cut early and go home. here, i claim the golden throne. i claim the ignorant scorn--- the flamboyant and biased thorn by which, i, proudly cut so many. i sterilized the walls of the mortal mind with calculated and historical prowess. i, claim the power of how this is, and was, and will be. unless, you think you can uproot the roots that rooted me? or drought me dry in how i will come to be? hah! better yet---pathetically shoo me away? here, i claim the largest gnat-like annoyance. i claim being crazy! i claim being insane! bipolar, retarded lunacy! i, am the enigma infecting all of your thoughts. you try to break my walls by fighting in-sane ? oh wow. is sanity your only game...