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. 

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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. 

Again

I will rise

Though the target is

Cut into my back

And my strength seems to be

Dwindling…

And the thorns in my side

Have come alive

And the dark days

Have come back to devour

I keep moving to the beat of

Gods love

I keep marching on

Pressing on

To claim what’s rightfully mine

Because my father sits on a throne

And so I am heir to a king,

The king. 

The fall comes at a price

That he has paid

Again

And again

Times seven,

I rise.

This end has to be a good one,

This journey has to greet the heavens

I have to win

You see,

I have been set up for victory.

Though the demons know where to dig their nails into,

My father knows where to heal, where to patch up, where to strengthen

So you see,

He is unstoppable,

Therefore,

So am I.