Judas

 I have committed no crime to compare

yet still

my heart cries out to him

survive!

do not deny him once again!

live still, and 

speak his name with tenderness

christ forgave the hands and spear which pierced his side

how much more would he forgive thee!

I wish, in moments of clarity,

pleading with Judas to yet live, 

I could hear the same words

echoed back at me

Live! And yet utter his name with tenderness!

As the Lord does utter yours in heaven!

SurRouNd

when I was young
Colors had Faces
letters had genDers
And spoons
Never got along with the forks

now
Now my emotions
Have feelings too
And when my pen
spills out
numbers
they tell me their life stories

4
Is my favorite number
Because she knows what it is like
To be told who she is
And 9
Will always be my CAMpfire villain
My water bottle Is a she
And she
Does not much care for tulips or birds
My pillow
Is a diVa
Who never gets her way

Months are Never just Days
days
Are slightly more than just dates
And when I spell out their names
Their letters greet each other i n d i v i d u a l l y
Before becoming the word as a whole

So

sO
So

So who am I to say I am never Alone
When every pEtal on my bedspread
Never Fails
To welcome me home

neither are nigh

I'm pulling from within

expecting something brilliant

I've forgotten

the universe is not as inseparable from me

as I am from myself

fear is a multifaceted eye

I'm afraid of ostriches and needles and words that don't mean anything
I fear windows I can't see through
hair loss and losing my teeth

I am not afraid of death

I am afraid of fire
choking lungs scorched skin eyes stinging and watering as if they could put out the fire themselves
as if they could mean anything

I am afraid of honesty
I cannot tell a lie

I'm not afraid of goodbye

I'm scared I'll die falling
that the ground will become a childhood swing and my uncle is pushing me so far into the trees
I could swear I was flying
only flying feels a lot like suspension
like disbelief
like doubt
I'm afraid I'll die falling because when the ground welcomes me home I'll spill my regret and my guts all in the same instant

I'm afraid of falling in love
reasons listed above

I'm not afraid of germs
not anymore

I'm afraid of words that were born in another's throat and still echo in my own
words that I regret
words that I'll never hear a sorry for

I'm afraid of apologies that don't make sense

I'm not afraid of God

I'm not afraid of dying
I am afraid of seeing the faces of my brothers at my funeral
I'm not afraid of goodbyes- I'm afraid of not saying them

maybe that's why I'm still alive
maybe that's why I lied
because I'm never not afraid\
that
at least
I'll take to the grave

I pour myself into the distance between hello and goodbye

it is time to cut my strings and 

dangle 

from every branch I've ever broken

climbing trees

to a sky full of hope

grenade

I remember when you pulled the pin in our relationship

I weighed it in my hands
gave it back

walked away and tried to forget the fear in your eyes

now I wonder
if I'm a bad person for not allowing it to kill us both

this is not the haiku you are looking for: a Tanka of glass

Sun rattles the leaves

Reaching me behind the glass

I become the chill

In the room and it warms me

Far deeper than the sun could

insignificantly significantly significant

I am cosmically small. 
A tiny, insignificant speck of a girl lost to the rivers of time, helpless to the vast expanse of existence. 

And yet. . . I house thought, and heart, and spirit. 

My body is a beacon of billions of microorganisms. I do not understand my utter insignificance, but I attempt to, and isn't that significant? 

Today, I feel special as I look at the molded yellow walls of the bathroom. I feel important as my knotted curls drip water and conditioner. I could not change the rotation of the Earth if I tried, yet I am a part of the universe; That is significant.

the chill of a Happy graveyard

Every time I wish I was dead 
I write a little letter inside my head 
Of wishes and history 
Things better left unsaid 

Seldom do I find the time to rhyme 
These secret little thoughts 
Or allow them space to shine 

They're rather a selfish bunch I think 

For hoping for a day 

The world would be better if I stayed

multiverse maddy

according to the multiverse theory
there are places I've never seen never breathed
people I've met; never seen
worlds that I might be,
worlds I already have

a time in which I've died every day of every year
glancing over moments a thousand times over
counting seconds to minutes long passed

how does the universe handle me multiplied to infinity?
has she collapsed cracked bent beneath my million dreams?
run out of stars from wishes I send on blown away kisses?
does she stretch at the seams? stitch my heart on her sleeves?

another day another way another chance for me to be made anew
used, same lines over and under
looping on the script of my predictable lives
lies, I'll do it someday I swear I say
have I done it in world #2?

you would think with all my tries that I would have something to prove
lose, did I ever manage to hold on?
have my goodbyes replaced the meat on my bones?
am I the same person without my mistakes?

raise the stakes, heaven's gates have closed
worlds have grown heavy with the weight of my soul
lost, to the ravages of time
I've burned and lost count of the embers at my toes

are the scales ever balanced between the avenues of my potential?
am I ever good or evil or merely inconsequential?
be gentle, I plead, there are roses on the thorns embedded in my knees

please, smile and pretend with me
that the cities in my dreams are more than make believe
that I've achieved more than just one moment to be proud of
that bones are not all that I contain within
that fruitless tales are far from all my hands have wrought - brought, gifted, bestowed
my ribs have finally closed over the heart I begged them to free

but maybe it's just me

longing to be more than a girl in one world

painting closed doors over walls

telling myself that the one that opens is where I belong

red like deceit in the streets betrayal glimpsed through reflections

Red
my darling, my dear
put away your jealous ways

tidy up your vanity
cap the cup from which your bitterness flows

Red
my sweet, my baby
the happiness of others does not
signify
the loss of your own

Red
my blossom, my dove
put your fear away
allow your heart to love

Artist's Soul

I do Not own
my Artist soul
because that would mean
She does what i want

no One owns
my artist Soul
and not even she
can decide what to think

but we are Grateful
to Be together
for I Anchor
her wanderings 
a n d she
loose ns the Bond
that tethers us Both
to mereLY Existing

silent humming

there are notes in my throat
content to stay unsung

silent little syllables
jumping
in the muscles behind my tongue

why can't I sing
these sweet little words
following the cues
left by the birds

The Man in the Well- Opening Scene

Thunder rolls overhead, bellowing obscenities as it goes. Brash and bold and presenting its demands with steadfast resolve. The pounding of the relentless rain calling cheekily as it fades away, arrogant and mischievous.

The wind buffets the walls of the little house and the roof over her head rattles. The shadows of trees dancing wildly before her. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, announcing its master before he arrives, disgruntled and laden with more demands. More complaints. Doing his level best to cuss them out before his strength wanes and he has to retire. Exhausted from the vigor with which he has used to shout his displeasure. 

She listens to it, though she does not speak its language. Hears their calls, strains to catch their words. She knows she'd have to be lucky or insane to catch what they're saying, but it doesn't stop her from trying. I wonder why he is so angry. She thinks to herself, wrapping herself still more firmly around the small form of her son beside her. You would think he would have less resentment, he is only thunder after all. What could possibly have wronged him? 

He shouts again, closer this time. An earthshaking roar of frustration. Her little son whimpers in his sleep, and she strokes soft locks off of his forehead. Hushing the fear that fights to rise. "I'm sorry." She whispers crossly, once he has settled and she is sure he will not wake. "I was just wondering. It's not any of my business anyway. You have a right to all the anger in the world if you want."

The distant echoing grows fainter still, gathering itself for one more, half-hearted shout, before trundling off somewhere over the mountains to voice its disapproval elsewhere, the rain dying down as it goes. Calmer and quieter with no one left to impress. In the moments after, and the one just before her eyes slide shut, she wonders if maybe she's not a little insane after all. 

Time

Where I am there is no time,
No beginnings or endings,
Nor reason nor rhyme.

Everything is,
And everything isn't.
Tomorrow is in the past,
Yesterday the present.

I've been here awhile,
I've only just taken off my coat.
Oh! Is that the time?
I really must go!

The streetlamps are dark,
The shadows are white,
And though the the sun has just risen,
It's already well into the night.

I passed by a stop sign,
And walked backwards to see it go.
And when I came across a green light,
I stopped and watched it glow.

I ran alongside a turtle,
we laughed as we went,
And when I walked the aisle,
I took it at a sprint.

Backwards is forwards,
And up is falling down.
You read this poem top to bottom,
And in confusion you did frown.

So read it again!
And this time remember,
Left is just as right as wrong,
and roses only grow in December.

Leaves in the Wind

Here on the edge of the mountain, the sun sets among wheat fields that are just a golden line on the horizon. Vibrant pinks and purples and fading blues a painted mess around the sun. The city rising up behind the trees, obscuring the little houses behind it. Glittering like misplaced starlight.

We don't speak, but when I look at you, you're looking at me and I see the sunset in your eyes. I don't know what to say, what to feel, but before I can decide you smile and take my hand. Soft hands, strong hands, pianists hands. An anchor in this world that I don't understand.

You turn away, back to the sunset, and so do I. Watching the last rays of light vanish, swallowed up by the emerging stars. I imagine the sun in each and every one them. Not gone, just disguised as something else. Something beautiful and lost among the dark satin of the night. I ache thinking about it, somewhere in my chest. And even in the beauty left in the wake of the parting sun, I long once more for the day. Brilliant, glorious daylight, where no one is lost.

"It's too late to turn back." You say, voice low. It's strange that I do not startle at the suddenness of it. Perhaps I have grown too used to you. "We'll get lost in the trees."

A breeze stirs the leaves behind us, leaving something uncertain and precarious. Something deeper than the danger of the edge before us. There's something here, something frightful but I do not understand it. I cannot even find it. I do not know if it has been following us, or if I brought it within me and my lost memories but I feel it rising slowly. Responding to the call of my fear and doubt. Whispering tendrils gathering where we cannot see.

I look away, wordless. You don't say anything else, and I wonder if you feel it too. But I don't ask. I simply stand there against the shadows, longing for the light. My only comfort your hand and your breath and the certainty of tomorrows daylight.

A Pretty Picture I Found Shortly After Posting