Instead of What I Said.

{Photo Credit: The Ballerina Project}

12.31.13

There's something sacred about going to war,
                                                      the way it somehow makes you appreciate things
                                                                                                          like butter more.
The chaos, you crave it- that's the thing...
first times lead to "just one more time"
and the hands on the clock of your heart develop arthritis
                                       -from all the holding on-
grantee, they'll stop ticking long before you realize.
They say as people we become like those we surround ourselves with;
         I never used to believe them...
but for the first time in four hundred and fifty eight days,
today
I asked someone other than me, "how are you doing?" 

You don't have to surround yourself with people to become like them;
O' no.
You can distance your self, on the most remote island
                                                                             in the middle of the Ocean,
but- as long as you surround your thoughts with someone
                                                                      and hang your soul up on their fears
their polluted waves of influence can still reach your shores.
For years I thought they were in pursuit of happiness,
but they're not.
They're searching for assurance-
                                                looking for a place where they will feel adequate.
Woman! you can't keep attempting to be that place:
    *letting them inhabit your being and pierce your soul with their self loathing
    *throwing off your self so that they can have a place of refuge...
No-
the only solution to their emptiness:
for them to seek out adequacy within the place where they are at.
within their minds,

                           their bodies,

the vessels that transport their souls through life-

if they feel inadequate there

 they won't feel adequate anywhere.

Slow Dancing

 

we were a fire hazard

somewhere between here and there

our wires got crossed

and we became an

 elegantly twisted pending disaster-

we could only slow dance in a burning room so long

before our lungs were filled with smoke,

the roof caved in,

and we collapsed.

 

when I wake up everything has changed,

I can breath again-

 

 you are the only one who will ever truly understand- value

what I lost in the fire,

for you too rock-stepped

 to the beautifully tragic chaos-

 

 

slowly I begin to accept talking to anyone else about it

doesn't really help.

I won't see the same relief,

or mirrored pain,

in anyone's eyes but yours.

 



Enough

{PhotoCredit:Theballerinaproject}

And I'll double knot these untied shoes 

so I can run back,

TRIP

over my past yet again?

NO! This time I've learned, 

learned to step out of the constraints of laces and run forward.

Pointing one pretty toe after the other 

as my feet rebound off the scorching pavement.

To trip over new pot holes rather then the same old familiar ones

sure, it might hurt more...

but how else can I win this race?

A Single Friday's Goodness



{Forgiven ~Thomas Blackshear}



Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last.

~Luke 23:46

When I was about 9 or 10 years old my dad had this photo in book mark form. I used to love flipping through his bible just to smell and feel the thin, onion skin pages. On one ocasion I came across the book mark and was completely enchanted with it. Thomas Blackshear manages to caputre in a way that a 9/ 10 year old can understand the complexity of the smiplicity that is devine forgivness. So I hope that this photo speaks some insight, as we prepare for the celebrations of three days!



{Lead me to the Cross ~ Brooke Fraser}

I love this song, and of course all the more at this time of the year!

~Adrianna