But I don’t let Him touch me anymore…
I said, “I’m not something to butter up and taste when You get bored.”
Cause I have spend too many nights on dirty bathroom floors
To find some peace and quiet right behind a wooden door…
He said, “Please don’t go away.”
I said, “It’s too late.”
Continue reading “Confession .109. But He Could Make Me Golden If I Just Showed Some Respect…”
And I will follow where this takes me
And my tomorrows long to be unknown
When all is shaken, be my safety
In a world uncertain, say You’ll be my stone…
n. the feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo—as if there’s some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you, each of them leaning back in their chair and calling out helpfully, colder, colder, colder.
If I start this blog the way I want to and say, “I don’t understand,” then some of you will lash out that here I go again playing the victim.
If I start this blog and say “How f-ing dare you all,” then some of you will lash out that here I go being a bitch again.
If I start this blog and say “I give up,” then some of you will lash out that here I go being melodramatic again.
So instead, I simply have to start this blog saying I don’t know how to start this blog. Heh.
Continue reading “Confession .67. Paro”
I realize that sometimes love brings you flowers
Then it builds you coffins
And far too often
We end up falling to our demise…
n. the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you’ve built up through decades of friction with the world.
Staring out the window, she wonders just when it happened. When that moment happened that made it all real, and different, and… alive! When did she cross over between superficiality and trying to make it work to a sense of ease and joy in just finding a space near Him to call her own?
When did it become ok to be herself with Him?
Continue reading “Confession .63. Flashover”
Touch me and then turn away
And put your hands into the flame
Tell me if you feel this pain
Cause I don’t want to be a ball and chain, no…
n. the moment of realization that your quintessential future self isn’t ever going to show up, which forces the role to fall upon the understudy, the gawky kid for whom nothing is easy, who spent years mouthing their lines in the wings before being shoved into the glare of your life, which is already well into its second act.
Have you ever had one of those moments where shows like Big Bang Theory make you wonder if, at any moment in your life, your future self will randomly show up in your living room because time travel has been invented in the future and you’re about to make a really stupid mistake?
Granted, I’m not sure what kind of mistake you’d be making in your living room alone on a Saturday night… but bear with me.
Continue reading “Confession .60. The Meantime”