Lost Pieces 

The worst part about losing yourself is not the process in which you dress yourself in all matters of darkness and go to foreign places that beckon the other side of you…

No, it’s the constant thought of:

“Will I ever get those pieces back?”


The Runaway Clay

I lied to you because the moment was right.

I said I would give you every bit and piece of myself, but the truth is,

I’m storing some in my soul just in case you get frusterated with the puzzle.

I’m sorry for being a wanderer. And a doubter. And a confused little child. 

I mimick the road I see instead of the destination of glory.

It’s a habit I’m trying to break,

Along with all the other chains.

But I guess that’s my problem.

I take my problems into my own hands and try to stitch things together with a makeshift sewing mechine and clumsy fingers. 

My clammy palms always cause me to slip up and nearly mess up the masterpiece… 

I have learned to run back into my arms when the unknown is a bit of a jump. 


I am the clay.

I need to learn to be still as I am being molded. 

Open Road 🌌

If I could, I’d drive a long stretch of the highway and keep driving until something caught my attention. In the car would be music that thumps in my chest and spills lyrics on my tongue. I’d turn on a slow jam just as the sun begins to set. I would draw out that moment and breath the crisp air of the birthing night. Windows down, hollow sounds. Once night drapes it’s arms around the sky, the music would reflect darkening excitement. Music and open road. No thoughts of home or destination. Just the rumbling of the base and the overflow of words that mean all too much to me. 

Seven Times Seventy, I Still Rise. 

seven times seventy,

i still rise;

though the target is cut

into my back

and my strength seems to be


though the thorns in my side

have come alive

and the dark days

have come back to devour,

i keep moving,

marching on,

pressing through,

to claim what is rightfully mine.

my father sits on a throne

so i am heir to a king;

The King.

the fall comes at a price that he has paid

again and again

seven times seventy,

i still rise.