We Must Suffer

a hundred brittle winters have passed
Since love broke that
yearning spine

and frigid fingers
Found fleshy places
to press               

     Fresh

like
harmless
lemons
      Smashed
by metal teeth

And yet somehow
this
   trickle
      of
         sweet Surprise
was
        Summoned

Daring and bold
she
     gathered herself

Amidst the
Reckless
sour
thrashing,

Grace making space
for her to
be another's
someday
salve

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,  who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God." II Corinthians 1:3,4

This Dress by Maria

this dress holds

no meaning

for me anymore

its hem

has touched

the most filthy

of streets

it's color looks flashy

and desperate

love me it screams

wear me out

and i, turn away

reaching for that pale one

in the back of the closest

the one I've been thinking

of for a while

but never quite caught my eye

this dress only looks good

on me

when your holding my hand

I wanna wear it out

my hands

their all trembly

as I fasten the little buttons one by one

                     Im shining like the sun as I

                     twirl and spin

                     and dance with

                     my daddy again

                     your hands are big

                     big enough to hold my life,

                     my world

                     looks small wrapped inside them

                     spin me around

                     daddy

                     faster and faster

                     till the world dissapears

                     and all that's left

                     is you and me,

                    this dress,          and                         

                    your

                    hands

i hate 'Christians'

okay, it's true. i do. and i always have.
hated the people who say "I'm a Christian"
"are you?"

i hate how they act
like it's all nice and neat and fits into a petite
little box
Like being 'a Christian' is a type of cologne you wear
or the way you do your hair
or maybe Spanish club

and when i was a kid i hated them more
i even swore
i'd NEVER be like them
walking around
talking about how
everyone else sins
and
telling their children
"you can't hang out with them"
because they are bad

good thing I later figured out
that most "Christians"
don't have a clue about Christ

because if I know anything at all,
i know that He didn't walk around
hanging out with a perfect crowd,
i know He didn't look to be powerful
or have money
or wear the right shoes
or tell women to wear skirts
or wash away the dirt
that covered them
before He came to them

no, I'm pretty sure most "Christians"
should just be called "clueless" about Christ

because He didn't tell people
to "pray for others" as much as
He told them "come to Me"
He had no interest in those that
considered themselves good
and considered themselves clean

He didn't look for people of prestige
with fancy cars
and diamond rings
at all

May I be bold enough to say for a minute
that maybe even Jesus hates "Christians"?
at least He has to hate
when they get
all puffed
up
like blowfish floating around like
they know
stuff
when they don't know this:
that
the only thing worth knowing is
that we don't know anything at all

if being a "christian" means following Christ than
they better get on the ball

or change their name to something
that better describes
the taste of vomit in a person's mouth

truth Serum

Warning: Extremely sarcastic commentary ahead

Truth is
that truth cannot be found in an ice cream store

which flavor would you like, sweetheart?
candy cane or lemon tart
would you like the kind that goes down easy,
or the one that tastes real gooey?
lucky you, that most are sweet enough
to make you sick

"now, now, now
let's be respectful to the many colors here"
"perhaps that one is poison to you
but some do enjoy
black-widow-ice cream with just the right amount of whipped cream"

don't cry now child
it's okay to be confused
you just pick the one that's 'right for you'
and pray
it doesn't kill you

heart puddles

this morning I looked at you
and my heart hoped things for you
that I knew you couldn't hear
and weren't yet ready to hear

but in a moment
that

      hope grabbed my soul
and bound its
tiny wings around it
and
had i not whispered to God about it
it would have fluttered-strong
and
escaped my throat

the thing I whispered was this:

i pray that your heart
melts
into a puddle
and that the finger of God
stirs and swirls it
until it
           never is the same

And I put two creams in my coffee
and thought of how
He did that to me
and how much richer
           life became

sorry, Anne Frank

sorry, Anne Frank,
but I lied yesterday
and a mother just murdered her child
yesterday

and what's worse is how is easily                          
she just walked away
because men like perfume
and a jury is swayed
by the lust in their heart
for the damned dollar bill

(sorry, I don't mean to be profane but strong sentiments are definitely necessary here)

my neighbor has blue suitcases sitting on his curb
because it felt better
to fantasize about what he couldn't have
than man up and

cherish                                                         
what            he  
                                already  
                                            does  did

i watch innocent children
who were not raised to lie
squirm and scream and get fiery eyes
when demanded they apologize
for the gaping wound on brother's knee

no, Anne Frank
those men
surely did
intend to harm you      

and everywhere
a candid
truthful
man does stand
she or he will see that indeed
we all think mostly of ourselves

and that is
not
the
least
bit ...
good

SO
the
best
thing

we can ever do
is ask
the        only One who
        
                actuallyIS

to  

please

forgive our souls
that we Einsatzkommandos, too
may neither
never
find ourselves
so full of blood
that we invent a gas chamber

***  "It is not that we can't do good.We do. It's just that we can't keep from doing bad. ..." Max Lucado

this View

I love how Your love
makes
A shiny sweet temptation
taste        like          sand
Like    something    bland
and undesirable

I love how Your words
make another's scorn
that would normally scar
and tear and burn
feel like tasty bread
that leads us to Your water

I love how
Your
       shelter

makes the waves
And the thunder into
silly           surmountable
things
Things that only usher us
back to that
Breathtaking
P a n o r a m a of Your arms

And I love how Your affection
makes perfection of
a heart that's bro  ken
Strengthens (what the world
calls weak)
   

                                      cheek
and lifts                wounded
                        a

So bring the sting
of disapproval
      Slash this face and
                         break
                       this will
I have a Love that
             Can't
be severed
I have a strength
that suffering builds