Tag Archives: joy



Love borne silently in the heart is hard to bear,

I miss you and think of you,

everyday it seems.

My heart is bare, you can see myself in my eyes.

I know now what the whispers of being sick

and weak with love now mean

because that is how I am now,

but not many see that –

I may be the only who can see that,

despite my eyes may be closed.


But love is a burden I am willing to carry –

my hands to be bound with love,

to love others, not just you, I am willing.

Ropes of kindness and love, I’ll be lead by.

I will plow the hard ground of my heart,

the stubborn stone that can be in my heart,

to plant seeds of righteousness

to harvest the crop of love,

along with the flowers that grow;

patience, and kindness, and joy in the truth,

perseverance, faith, and hope – in time, –

having fully again, a tender heart that responds

and a new spirit in me.


A/N: Hosea 10:12 (NLT), Hosea 11:4 (NLT), Ezekiel 36:26 (NLT), and 1 Corinthians 12:4-8 (NLT and KJV). These were verses in the Bible that I read over and over again, helping me write this poem. This is just something that has been on my heart for a long time.






A Sort Of Explanation of My Adventure with Jesus? Haha.

I looked into His eyes, and I saw Beauty.

I saw my mother; I saw the one I love; I saw my cousin; I saw the moments, the memories I held to; I saw my brother; I saw my birth-mother; I saw peace; I saw joy; I saw patience; I saw love; I saw everything that was beautiful; I saw Him.

And He is beautiful. So, so beautiful.

I looked into His eyes, His Lion’s eyes – and His eyes were blue/green with grey in them.

Aurora lights were all around Him, light and a little shade darker pinks and purples with other different colors floated around Him; and it seemed like they were worshiping Him, adoring Him.

Worshiping Him like He was Everything, and when I looked into His eyes – I started to know more deeply how He is Everything.

Haha. He is Everything. Haha. He is.

Jesus is.

God is.

The Holy Spirit is.

HE is.

When I looked into His eyes, I started to know more deeply how He is Everything, and I’m still on that process. I’m still knowing more deeply how He is Everything. 

I remember His face. His Lion’s face, His mane shaved, but that did not matter to Him – He looked at me, He stared into my eyes, seeing me as I saw Him.

As I saw Him, He saw me.

I saw Him.

He saw me.

He always does.

. . .

How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand! And when I wake up, you are still with me! 

Psalm 139:17-18

An Adventure With Jesus

I was walking with Him along a river that flowed north. On the right side of Him, holding onto Him as I walked; walking but not walking at the same time.
. . .
I couldn’t walk unless I held onto Him; but I knew that I wanted that: to not be able to walk but walk with Him. Only being able to walk with Him; and it’s true. I can’t walk without Him.
. . .
And I walked, I walked next to Him, Him helping me and I felt content. Peaceful. Not thirsty. Happy.
. . .
And I talked with Him and He talked with me, we both talked as we were walking together, along side the river that streamed down or up north.
. . .
A meadow was all around us with the river, as we spent time together and He taught me.
. . .
Then I saw the sky turn into pink and purple, and I saw stars. Stars coming into view, and then more kept on coming and coming, popping softly and unexpectedly into the night as I laid on His back and I lifted my hand to the sky, as he kept on walking.
. . .
I could feel His joy. His peace. Him.
. . .
Then I was staring into His eyes, blue/green with grey; and I saw so much. I saw Beauty.
. . .
I saw my mother; I saw the moments and sounds I kept as treasures in my treasure box; I saw the one I love; I saw everything that was beautiful; I saw Him.
. . .
He was Beauty, all in all.
. . .
He was beautiful. So, so beautiful.
. . .
I saw Him.
. . .
Then He changed, in a white tunic with his hair brown and his eyes still blue/green with grey; his face to the sky and His eyes closed yet I knew He could see me from the ground I stood and He could see  everything; the sky still pink and purple, the aurora lights waving, pink and purple and other small yet big, different colors around Him.
. . .
I saw Him; and He is Beauty. He is beautiful. He is Everything.
. . .
He was a Lion, then He changed but still stayed the same.
The pink around the lion picture, that was the almost same pink; and the color of His eyes were like that but with a little bit of grey in them.
Haha. He’s Jesus.
Jesus is Jesus.

There’s This Girl I Know (a combination of two character sketches)

I remembered I wrote one or two character sketches, though I couldn’t remember when I wrote it. I found them today in my old bag, and I saw that I had written two character sketches about a real person and conflict. I was inspired to write a character sketch or sketches about a real person and conflict when I read one of Cynthia Voigt’s books, ‘Dicey’s Song.’ 

I read them today, and I smiled. I almost always smile when I read something that I wrote a while back. And I decided to combine two of the character sketches that I wrote, together and add onto it a little bit,  and share with it y’all.

I hope y’all enjoy it, and I hope and pray that you all have a wonderful day today. (:

~ ~ ~

{There’s This Girl I Know} Written on May 21, 2014 and March 10, 2015.

There’s this girl I know. She and I are starting to be best friends now. Her last name is Parrilla. Her parents are divorced. Her father left, or that was what it seemed like to her. She told me, she didn’t know. She was just a little girl back then, but that’s what it seemed like to her: that her father left her and her family.

She told me she didn’t know why her father left. All she knew was that he was gone. That he had walked out of her life and her family’s lives, disappearing. That he did not stop to tell them goodbye, only to just wave and walk away to who knows where.

She told me when she was young, she thought something, perhaps a monster had stolen her father. She really did not know, she told me again, pain and confusion on her face. “Either I really don’t know, or I just can’t remember,” was her words to me.

Mind you, it took a long time for my friend, the girl I know, to trust me enough to tell me because she was ascared. I don’t know when this happened, but one day when we were together, she told me something that she used to do almost every night when she was a little girl.

She was afraid whatever had stolen her father would happen to her mother too, and she didn’t want the same thing to happen to her mother.

Almost every night at midnight or after midnight, she would get up and check to see if her mother there. To see if her mother was still alive She would panic if she couldn’t hear her mother breathing. She would get as close as she could to her mother, trying not to wake her up while trying to hear her mother breathe; and when she heard her mother breathe, she would go back to bed a little reassured and a little relieved, but she was still scared and she would still fight sleep just to hear her mother breathing.

She told me of her fears and when she told me of her fears, I saw that she was frightened so much. Very frightened.

She was afraid of her emotions. She didn’t want her emotions and she didn’t want to know her emotions. She panicked when her emotions started rising up . She pushed them down, as far down as she could and she thought that helped if only a little bit. “I was wrong in thinking that pushing down and pushing away my emotions helped,” she said to me with a distant look on her face; telling me her words and thinking about what she said at the same time.

Because when she pushed down or pushed away her emotions, they built up little by little whenever she did that. She tried not to leave evidence or tried to leave very little evidence of what she was keeping inside her. She needed a container for her emotions, but she couldn’t find one. So, she tried to become the container herself, but her emotions would seep out. Trickle out.

She was frightened of so many things, and she was also worried about so many thing then. Fear and worry were one of her constant companions back then. She was worried about money because it sometimes seemed like they didn’t have enough and she worried about food being in their stomachs. She worried about her mother and brother. She worried about their health and her health. It seemed like she was frightened and worried about almost, everything.

She didn’t know to be a child because she had grown up when her father left, but she was still was still a little girl on that day she grew up. She just didn’t how to play, and when her family became broken and her father left that was the final straw. She hid from the world.

Years passed by, and the little grew and grew, but she didn’t outgrow her fears and worries. She was still frightened, she was still worried. She was frightened of death and darkness and sickness for they seemed like the same to her because she was worried that her mother was dying because she was sick so many times. She frightened and worried when ever she became sick because she didn’t want to be sick. All she wanted to do was to look after and care for her family.

She was frightened of love because from what she had seen, love had only just her and her family; and she was frightened when people besides her family loved her because she didn’t know if they were going to leave her or hurt her. She didn’t want to get hurt again. She was also fearful of promises from people she knew or didn’t know and from people she loved and whom loved her because she didn’t know if they were really going to keep their promises that they made. They could be filled with lies and wind, and she didn’t want that.

She didn’t want pain and disappointment, again. Yet she hoped that they would keep their promises, even though she tried not to hope.

“I made myself a prison from fear and worry and pain because I thought I would be safe. How wrong I was. It took a long time to take down the walls of thorns I built, even though they weren’t strong.”

“Besides being afraid of those, I was also afraid of myself. I was afraid of myself because I knew I could hurt someone, and I was also frightened of myself because I once almost killed my brother in an accident. I was afraid of what I could do. I was scared of the power I had, and I didn’t want to use it.”

“Yet,” she said. Yet she sometimes used what she knew she had even if she was frightened of it, she revealed to me.

But my friends, my friend is starting to come out of hiding. She’s showing herself to the world without her mask on her face. She’s starting to heal and become whole. She’s starting to get back her voice that she tried to silence and lose. The spark, the flame that she tried to douse is starting to light up.

She finally gave her life to someone she knew she could give it too.

“I gave my life to Jesus, and even though I gave my life to him in anger and pain and sadness and confusion, he turned my whole life around.”

I knew that giving my life to him is something that I won’t ever take back, even though I knew it was going to be hard. He was there when no-one was there, and He’s still with me. 

I found and I find healing in Him, when someone hurts me or disappoints me. I found myself and I find myself in Him and in the Father, I thought I never had.”

The last time I saw her, she was finding pieces of herself, rejoicing. In joy. She also found her smile, her laughter. Her laughter isn’t forced, and her smiles isn’t broken. Behind her smile, there’s a story.

She was shining when I saw her recently. She’s still shining, and she’ll shine now because she knows that everything’s alright. She’s with her Lover, Jesus. She’s with her Teacher, the Holy Spirit. She’s with her Father, Abba.

“I’m okay,” she realized. She’s alright. She’s safe. She’s becoming the person, she’s meant to be; she’s finding her identity and her calling. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she told me and herself.

My friend’s full name is Nichia, Nichia Lychole Soleille Parrilla. That’s her secret full name anyways, haha. The girl I know is me.

The End 

{Inner Turmoil: poem}

It’s like

an inner turmoil
because half
of your sky
is blue
and half of
your sky
is gray
in your world.
. . .
Your cold tears
fall down
and soak
into my skin,
making my eyesight
as I stand
in your arms.
. . .
The sound
of a wailing train
with the sound
of the wind
as it rushes
and sweeps
with the storm
inside you,
in your heart.
~ ~ ~
As I stand outside, calling for my cat, I noticed white tiny specks flurrying all around me. Haha, foolishly as I am often foolish, I thought mayhaps it was coming off from the trees for some reason or that it was white dandruff. Oh, the foolishness of me, not the cleverness of me, haha.
I finally realized it was snow when it melted into my skin. As it snowed for a little bit, I sat outside as I watched over my cat. Closing my eyes and letting the snow melt onto me and listening to the sound of the train near my home, thinking I’ll miss my home when I have to move this summer.
There’s a beauty and peace and joy in my heart as I write this. My jacket that had snowflakes clinging to its surface, now warming up and melting the coldness I had brought in from outside into the warmth of my home.

[Frozen Trees]

[The Frozen Trees]

You turned pale with delight
last night,
as you stood
in yesterday’s frozen rain.
You gathered the ice in your arms
as you shivered
and woke up today this morn.
The tips of your fingers
were white
and your lips never turned blue
from the cold
as you drop glazed-looking,
small showers
on the top of my head
with your voice rich with laughter
as you frolicked
and ran your fingers
through everything you touched
with wonder
because you’re standing
in a winter wonderland;
you’re the frozen trees
all around my house.


I apologize for a bit of language in it, but for some reason I felt that it needed to be written in the poem. But again, my apologies for a bit of swearing.
~ ~ ~
We live in one huge fairy-tale,
but some of us think that fairy-tales
don’t exist and that they’re full of lies,
because more than one Prince Charming
or more than one princess who lied,
has broken our fragile, beating hearts.
Life can be like a raging, tearing dragon,
breathing down burning fire on us,
but sometimes you have to conquer
what you think you cannot conquer;
dousing the fire with water and riding the dragon,
holding the sword that was given to you.
Sometimes our golden shoes or glass slippers
don’t have to be because sometimes,
our calloused feet or our plain clogs
are our glass shoes or golden shoes;
because not all those were remembered and walked in our world,
wore something precious or even wore something on their feet;
the greatest man wore peace on his bare feet.
Riches are now silver, gold, coins, jewels and paper money
instead of love, faith and peace, family and the breathless
moments that steal our breaths; the beauty of life –
forgotten, fading behind the sound of our broken, crying hearts.
What happened to the innocent laughter that burbled
from our beautiful mouths that birthed fairies to existence,
when we first came into this world?
‘No happy ending, happy ever after, happily ever after, or happily after all
because this is a modern fairy-tale if fairy-tales are even real,’ someone says;
this modern fairy-tale filled with cold beds as hard as stone,
wedding rings thrown on the ground with vows thrown in the wind,
people only staying with each other for the better not for the worse,
children hiding from the tears that crack them slowly and screaming
from the nightmares that demons give them at night.
‘Fairy-tales are full of sh*t, crap, lies, mere fantasies’
says the song ‘Payphone,’ that I listened on YouTube
but I beg to differ; I disagree –
what if the lies are the lies
that you spin around yourself like a web
like a spider does everyday of its life?
Your once upon a time may not
have had a happy beginning, but it’s your own story
and the beginning is always the hardest
and the beginning doesn’t tell the whole story – it’s the ending that does;
and I swear on my life that everything will be okay in the end.
I know the roses in the vase are drooping,
turning brown from despair and fear
and the sadness that falls from the corners of your eyes;
I know that the tears are our golden staircases
and the fire from the dragon is burning, charring our hearts
and that glass is our precious jewels, cutting our hands
and that the thorns from our barriers are piercing our skins;
and I know it sometimes seems like the Villain is winning,
but I promise – I promise that our Hero is coming,
that our Knight in shining armor on a white horse is coming.
I promise we’ll have a happy ending in the end
because our hero is already here, he’s just still coming.