the foolish girl has grown wings

i know i am foolish.

only a foolish girl allows her thoughts to caress

memories that are forbidden.

only she longs for the boy that hurt her when it’s

2 a.m and she needs saving.

she is foolish, yes,

but she is also strong.

though she allows herself to miss him when she feels most vulnerable,

she reminds herself that she is a queen in armor.

she tells her spirit to rise when it has been free-falling from the memory

of his lips and grip.

 

these nights in the pit are trying

but

she knows those nights don’t last long,

that the torrent of thoughts are only the waves of lonely

that sneak up on her like a well-acquainted ghost.

she thought he taught her how to get rid of them,

but she’s realized that it is only her that can cast those demons away

and

that

is why this foolish girl has grown wings.

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a daily battle

i want to know who i am

in Christ

and

i no longer want to listen to the opinions of the

one who wants to kill, steal, and destroy

everything i have.

he tells me that i should

go back,

go back,

go back.

everyday, i scream or whisper

no,

no,

no.

it’s the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do

but i have never been so proud of myself.

i am grateful for the ache

to every ache that rattled my veins:

i should not have let you steal from me,

i should not have let you dig your hands into my soul.

but,

thank you for showing me that i am strong.

because of you,

i have learned how to fall on my knees and pray.

you meant to drown me,

but i was already drowning in Gods grace.

thank you,

pain.

hurt.

confusion.

sorrow.

thank you for pointing me to my savior.

i wait for Jesus 

i’ve been sinking on the low,

cradling my broken pieces in between bent arms,

trying to figure out what i’m going to do with them.

but i forgot that i didn’t have to figure it out alone,

because along with the puzzle, my heart was a riddle Einstein wouldn’t have the brains to solve.

i forgot who went before me,

followed behind me,

and in desperate times, carried me.

He knows my heart and has solved the riddle ages ago,

now we are both waiting:

i wait for him to show me what my eyes cannot see 

he waits for me to realize that he is all that i need. 

i wait for Jesus.

let me see Jesus. 

Poem Inspired By Inaugaration Day: “In spite of it all;” 

Cries for help 

Are muffled by the hands 

Of those that 

Sit on the titling and vulnerable axis of the earth.

And they only

Bend down,

Arms outstretched in selfish ambition,

To collect the shiny, useless things they crave and devour.

Possessive;

Take what’s yours to take.

The people will suffer but,

Oh,

If you were to spend a day, week–

God forbid! A month…

In their bottomless, worn out shoes,

You would crumble.

Because you are made of straw.

The dirt of this earth, the essence of essential and the basis of our foundation,

Stack them all real high,

Apply some pressure,

And you get steel and brick,

Strong enough to weigh down that paper house of yours.

Shut them up,

But listen closely

To the chains snapping and falling, quite surely,

To the ground.

In spite of it all; watch them fall. 

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. 

But,

I am the clay.

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

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

dwindling,

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.