Choice

I still don't pray
Not like I should
I'm coming closer and closer to belief
But it remains elusive

I used to think Jesus was just another prophet
I've come to believe in the Holy Trinity
I used to think all faiths led to God
But now I'm not so sure

If you don't believe in a Christian God
Can you really go to a Christian hell?
Is it a physical place, like I've read?
A God that created the universe
Could certainly create a heaven and hell
Like two distant planets

But I don't want to believe
That someone who grew up in another faith
Could go to a Christian hell.

Sometimes religion is like your parents
You can't help what you're born into

Maybe I was lucky after all--
Being born into nothing
Christian values I suppose,
But we didn't go to church

Maybe I'm lucky,
To get to decide without
A lifetime of conditioning

Or maybe it would have been better
To be born into a church-going family
Where faith would have been second nature

But you can't change your upbringing
And all I have is this weight of choice
Sitting on my shoulders

My Favorite Things

I've become bitter
About the way things have turned out
About how life has been dealt me

But I've come to realize
That I can't stay mad.
I can't hold on to anger.
Disappointment, fear, bitterness--
These are a few of my favorite things.
They are things I hold on to

In low moments
When I am reminded
Of all my losses,
I hold disappointment in my hands

In contemplated trips
When I miss my friends
And the events in their lives,
I hold fear in the back of my throat

In the middle of the night
When I close my eyes
But am unable to sleep,
I hold bitterness to my chest

In moments preceding weakness
I recognize my failures all over again

There are times when
I want to be 19 again
When the lights are low
And so am I

I don't want to go back
Knowing what I know now
So I can only hope that there's no such thing as fate
And that I wouldn't
Repeat the same mistakes

I can wish to go back
To that happy time
Even knowing how stupid I was
How naive

But you can't return
To a time already lost
To places foreign to you now
To faces that no longer know you
Because you aren't that 19 year old girl
Not anymore

I stopped sharing myself with others
It feels so foreign to open up
To talk about my personal life,
Such that it is

I've come to the conclusion that no one cares about you
The way that you do
There is no one else
That really cares about the details of your day

And while this is sad,
I believe it is true.

Oh, I wouldn't wish this existence on anyone

But I suppose it isn't that bad
Who I've become could certainly be worse
And I no longer think
Of taking off-road trips
And short cuts to death
So I've improved, you see?

Maybe in time
This bitterness I have
Will pass
Like the rain
Like the sun

Like a day in the dark

Choked on Love

Once a silly girl thought she was in love
She felt her too full heart
Expand out of her chest,
Taking the room her lungs needed to breathe
Until she was so light from lack of air
That she floated above reality.

It's all a half forgotten dream now,
After she came tumbling down.
And the silly girl, she hurt--
She choked on love.

Burning Bright

The flame burns bright,
Flickers and then holds, strong
The orange of it glows for me
The yellow, it's always for you
Metaphors, metaphors...
My love is ash on my tongue.

Sometimes this love hurts, like a pang.
A half forgotten memory
That surfaces when I least expect it--
A sharp contrast to my soft skin,
The aching pulse, the reminder of life.

But it's all I have to give--
My soul in my eyes,
Ineffectual love letters,
And that orange that burns so hot?
You repel it

Relating

I thought it would come true
This dream I had of me and you
But it turns out that dreams fail
And little ones assumed dark are now pale.

I thought things would be different
I thought you would remain true
I guess I thought I meant more to you.

But thoughts can be forgetful
When absence steals my dew
And other girls surround you, shiny and new.

Penned

written in 2007

It's not the lies we tell ourselves that get us in trouble, it's the lies we believe. Sugar-coated, sticky sweet lies that drip off your tongue like honey. Thick and warm, these lies give birth to a whole new way of thinking. Then, before you know it, you can't tell the truth from the lies you made your truth. These lies live and breathe, taking on forms so grotesque that you begin to believe you must be wrong some how to have created them. Literally made wrong. Dysfunctional. Perhaps, even, insane. These lies spawn a whole new reality featuring you as the worst thing you can imagine. You pin the whole of wrongness to the front of your chest, attached to the heart, puncturing lungs to get there til you're broken in mind and body. Soon your spirit follows. You believe that you are the monster you've painted yourself. You come to believe that you are worthless. That life can't get any worse and yet you know that each minute it does. The next moment drags into the next. And you just can't get out of the reality that you've created. You can't get out of your head long enough to think. You're stuck. Pinned. Penned.