Today

I feel like my gut has been punched, though it doesn't hurt, I feel the uneasiness. My emotions slowly inch closer to my heart and when it gets there with its tender hands, it squeezes every possible life out. I feel collapsed and it's not so much that I don't wanna get up, I just can't. Thoughts run through my mind creating catastrophes that turn into headache and migraines. My eyes get heavier and I almost feel the need to cry but I don't because that too needs the strength I don't have.

Social Circle

Then and there I realized I was in the middle of a social circle. If I can't get out of it, I promised myself to go with it. Only because fighting it makes it worse. And in this world, there is no such thing as running away from your problems.

I'm stoned. Most def.

Last of it all.

I'm fucked. It's over. My eyes are twitching left and right at the rate a humming bird flaps it's wings. I'm so high, nauseous, and am on my third of dry heave attacks. My stomach hurts from straining to puke up nothing. My heart feels like someone with rusting nails protruding from their hand... Seizing my life. I'm crying from the pain but mostly because I'm terrified. Somehow through the pain I think of my mother.

Another tremendous surge of pain rips through my chest and I start make promises to a God I've never believed in. My head is pounding. The pain gets so much worse my vision begins to blur. Bass from the near speaker vibrate though my body. Everything is amplified... My thoughts, my pain, the noise.

To Write Love On Her Arms

This story/passage had come from somewhere very respectable, a community full of people who are helping others that seek help. I owe a lot to them for taking me out of such a vulnerable position and sitting me up straight. xoxo

Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles.

"Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars... The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope."


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He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses.

We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.

The language of love letters is the same as suicide notes.

I've seen her before and I remember how awkward her walk was... Though, I applauded her for her style, I never really saw what was so attractive about her. A bland face that gave off a ghost look, maybe. Every thing around her was colourful but with her presence, that could change so quickly. I wondered what was wrong with her... She was hiding something so dreadful from the world and it slightly showed in the most blundering and artless way. Through shades of gray, occasional black and white.

The only thing that showed colour was something that would pass by so expeditiously.

In traffic she stood there.

Two girls discover...

The secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.

It's true. Such a simple line of poetry can express ones words, ones feelings, ones life. The life we live, the life we give, the silences...