Farewell

I'm not quite sure where it happened, or how it did; but I changed so much somewhere along the way. Castles in the fog and muddy knees in the silt, faces in rocks and trees all so distracting. All judging; making, becoming, forming this view of me. And I don't like who I am to them, because I'm not sure. Is that me?
But it's okay, I'll still write broken love songs, with torn sheets and broke strings, I won't sing I'll scream but I'll say I am okay. What is okay? Are we okay?
And I don't chase rainbows anymore, because somehow that's not done. I don't wonder at wonderment, because growth means tollerance. I don't feel with feeling the whole world that is stealing all of me into who I don't want, I don't need. If I could just run away and think.
Does grace reside at the bottom of a bottle or the ashes in the tray? In the subtle distractions from the throbbing pain that comes from living in a world that's gone mad, its gone mad. Maybe I'm naive. I can't say. Tell that to the end of my knife clean of the blood I almost let; this life I almost let.
Does this still mean, that Jesus saves me? When I am least worthy of love? Oh, a pure love. I long, I pine. Let this whole world fade away, I'll stare into your eyes. Jesus.

Take a moment to live like you mean it

A little dry-erase board clumsily attatched to my door reads: "LIVE like there's no tomorrow". Wrist bands in my jewelry box say: LIVE, LOVE, WWJD?; and so on. Books on my shelves speak about revolutions of love, and walking in God's steps, and being reveled with our true faces in the waking light of the mercy of God. Sermon notes litter my car floor along with gum wrapers and styrofoam coffee cups.
A little paper sits upon our family desktop. Piles of papers left unatended, and pencils strewn across the horizon. Car keys sit in my pocket, finances weigh in heavy on my mind. Music practice in an evening or two. Group projects need to be finished. Email need to be sent. People need to be called. Rooms need to be cleaned. Financed need to be managed. Panic needs room to grow.
All the while there are fake smiles, always fake. Sometimes I wonder if people are real at all. All the while behind exteriors there's nothing left, victim's of petty theft. Spending an entire life hoarding what is the very factor destroying authenticity. I wonder where all those hidden smiles, those hidden thoughts go? Does anyone know? I'd like to go. Just living to get by, makes me just want to cry. Living intentionally hurts, though. Where have all the real people gone? I'd like to go.

I'll never understand

Some things never seem to make sense.
Like why we must kill to bring about peace...
How we have to tear down
So that we can build up.
Or fight to bring about forgiveness...
How maturity means experiencing,
And not reacting.
Things like death, that make us value life,
And pain that reminds us of comfort.
How our tears bring about healing,
That our anger could never bring about.
How a gentle and humble Savior,
Brought life to all by dying on a cross.

No -- it's your turn to be philosophical and deep, I just want to be me.

I'm sure this doesn't happen to others. But... I don't know, maybe it does? Getting bogged down in the little things; caught up in who you're not, forgetting who you are. It's becoming tiring, this trying to say something new so that an ear might listen. Playing a new song everytime around, forgetting the song I was given. And, it's okay to be "deep" and to "say all the right things" but when it comes down to reality, who's really going to care if I, by myself, said all the right words? Do I dare to hope for God's Words to be spoken through me? Would it be possible to dream for peace knowing that, while I may never land an Oscar, God can surely use a life like mine? You be deep... tonight, I just need to seek...