Tag Archives: poetry

You Make Me Beautiful


Even through my tears,

When you kiss my tears away,

And you call out my name

In the storm of this desert,

You make me feel beautiful

And make me want to believe that I am

Even with the scars and bruises I have,

As you open my eyes more from this darkness

And gently hold my hand;

Covering my weaknesses

With your strengths –

And how I see the sun through the storm,

And dance with you and for you

In the sunlight that wraps around me

As the rain gently comes down

To these forests of sands

And washes them away

Along with the stains on my soul –

And here I am to say that you are my Jesus;

Here I am to say I am yours alone

For all I need is you,

And I will run with you

With nothing wrong with me –



The Stars Become Flowers


The stars in my hands are pale, and delicate, but strong flowers
slowly blooming right there, right now as if time
was no burden to them at all, or time could not stop them;
and they are shining so bright
as if laughter had kissed them on their lips
and now they cannot stop smiling
as the sunlight shines on their day,
drenching in the sunlight,
becoming little suns,
as they sing a song in the night in the universe that they live in
to let someone know,
and red giants sitting on horizontal branches wave at them,
that they can lean on someone’s shoulder
to rest and sigh slowly,
to breathe in and to breathe out rest and quietness,
like the way that a river does
that becomes into an ocean
with its waves;
knowing that they need to be still
and rest into something far bigger than themselves.

What Once Was


Ashes to the ground then to the sky
While this fire it burns,
And the wild cry of Camelot rises
From the ruins of what once was
England’s glory and pride
Because peace and wisdom were sought after
And fought for,
A King wanting that for his people.

But Lady Peace and Lady Wisdom,
War is in this country of yours.
Blood is the color of your skies, Camelot,
As tempers are lost and no one seems
To seek for you, Lady Wisdom;
And your quiet strength, Lady Peace,
Are not in many of the hearts of men,
But instead mayhem – the Devil’s tool and foothold.

Lives are lost and sacrificed, and the living
Forget how to breathe
As they focus that the ones they love
Are dead and not coming back,
And not on what their loved ones gave to them
When they were with them.
So sacrifices made for them and the love
That was given are forgotten as if it were nothing.

O Camelot, O Camelot,
Why did you do that?
Why did you not trust your King?
Why did you take the lies for truth, and truth for lies?
Why did you lose what you should have
Held onto, and yourself?
Trust the hope that was waiting for you in this darkness?
That God would take you by the hand to lead you?

Will you do it again, though, like you once did before?
Will you believe with me, borrow what is mine and what I have
To help you in these journeys that we both have?
Will you slip your hand into His hand, Someone oh so beyond all this
That we know and everything else?
Borrow my smile, my laughter, my hope, my faith, and my peace?
Just take it, my love; I want to give you these flowers
That you’ve seen and grown to know that I love.

You’ve pushed Lady Wisdom aside during this time,
Getting caught by all that is happening –
Will you listen to her now, though, to her sharing her heart?
That this suffering we see is not for nothing,
Unless we make into nothing, though?
Because if you make the suffering and sacrifices that have happened
Into nothing, just like that,
Then it will be nothing to you when all along
It was something real in this world we live in to hold onto.



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.






Clad in a chess-covered jacket,

Growing with ferns and moss on it
As I rub my hands,
Covered in chocolate cookies
And tears
Because of worry that I will turn
Into an icicle if they continue
To keep the freezing winds blowing.
But the black moths lead me
To a way that I can escape to,
Will someone burn the night away?
I seem to be afraid,
And the light burning the night
And leaving the stars to fall
Will help me see and wide awake.
A white shirt is bright as I wear it.
Coffee black and egg white,
Tired grey.
Tomorrow’s not yesterday –
Well, hopefully not, oui?
Tuck me in a frame of memories
If the day today is like yesterday,
So that I will not have to be
In a day that is the same.
Same old same,
I am tired of the same things,
Of bears growling at each other
Of the same things over again –
A paper shield will be covered
In my tears too
And my wooden sword
Will be worn from the same battles.
Will my Knight in Shining Armor
Be able to save me from the dragons
That have kidnapped me?
Will my Knight still love me
Even when the walls are still
Around me
Even though I try to tear them down
With my own hands?
Whisper me the answers,
Sir Owl;
Tickle my ears with your feathers
And peck into my stubborn head
The answers of
How to be wise
And not be like a donkey,
But me.
 . . .
A/N: Because He can leap over your walls, the walls that were never meant to be there. He can leap over your walls, He can walk through your walls, He can and will comfort you.

Just something from today:


3 am,
And I’m awake.
I fell asleep for one hour –
For the day,
I am one hour
Of no rest.
The day goes on,
And I am able to stay awake.
I am able to make it through.
I am able laugh
And smile,
Be with other people.
But I miss you.
Then comes night,
And I am able to cry.
And I fall asleep.
Somewhere between asleep
And awake.
I see your messages.
I don’t reply.
I can’t reply.
Because I’m asking myself
How do I live.
And I am crying,
Falling asleep.
Putting my hand
On my mouth,
A pillow covering my face,
Gasping for air
And for comfort,
Looking for answers.
But I try not let anyone
Hear me cry,
Hear me gasp.
Hear me ask for help.
And I think it worked.
I wake up,
And it’s another day.
4 pm,
In the afternoon –
I thought my alarm clock
Was right that it was 3 –
Because I thought to myself
It couldn’t be that late.
But the clock was wrong.
Time had changed
Because it was spring now,
Winter gone –
But discontent still here,
With me.
I told myself that I can’t live
Like this anymore;
That I can’t live like this.
That I don’t want to feel small;
That I don’t want to feel
Like I’m trapped;
That I don’t want to feel like
I don’t belong;
That I don’t want to feel
Like I’m invisible.
That I don’t want to be afraid.
I don’t want to feel misunderstood.
The things I want to say.
The things that I want to let you see
And hear.
Wanting to be free.
Wanting to be unburdened.
Wanting to feel like I belong.
Wanting to be open.
And wanting to be just seen.
And throughout the day,
I think that you should leave me.
That you shouldn’t have
To deal with someone
Like me.
And I think of how stupid I am
For not replying back to you,
For how I’m being –
A dramatic soul,
Seeming to
Always have to dramatize.
And I’m sorry.
I am.
And here I am.
The song
“Try Everything”
Comes to mind
From the movie that we
Watched together.
So here I am,
Trying to try everything
The best that I can
And taking the first step
Of getting up again.

the dancer

Sweat, blood, pan, you have to sacrifice when you dance; but it’s worth it. Dance is painful, yes – but I love dance.

the dancer 
she walks on rivers,
dancing on top
on the tip of her toes;
standing on the very tip
of her toes
and dancing
till her breaths 
and sweat and movement
blend into a blurriness,
which she can see through
and still dance
to the music playing
around her as the world
she treads on top of waters,
her frustration 
and stress and sadness,
now out in the open;
just like her
as she twirls and lets 
the world go by her;
she doesn’t care anymore,
not when she dances
because when she dances,
she feels like she belongs,
and it’s the closest
to flying like the birds 
as she defies gravity. 
she’s tiptoeing on seas,
and it doesn’t matter
if she does walk
on sprained feet
and if her feet does bleed
and her feet become raw,
showing the skin 
under her skin;
it doesn’t matter
because she’s dancing
as she stretches her arms
and strains to reach
towards what only she can see.