telling stories through poetry & personal reflections
Babies. Growing. Girls. Laughing. Women. Learning. Sisters. Always.
Sharing. Failing. Binding. Walls. Safe. Careful. Secrets. Bearing. All.
Adolescence. Us. Dreaming. Perfection. Searching. Living. Carefree.
More secrets. Hidden talk. Higher walls. Deeper love. Discovering boys. Becoming young women. Continue reading “Whisper Me Our Sisterhood”
I have spun myself a mess. A conflicted creature of my own will. Spinning. Wrapping. Folding. Hiding. Strategically placing my own moves. I wrap around my mistakes. I dwell upon my own regrets. I can only spin and make and fashion a web of an earthly mess. I’m trapped in the web of trouble my own. And as I have fallen, I am reminded that I have a vacancy. It was given to me when I excepted the gift of my Savior.
A vacancy where my sinful web cannot be, where my mistakes are covered, and my joy is restored.
An intricate mess can only be spun where the Creator restores, and my Savior forgives. An intricate mess can only be cleansed by the One who makes me whole. Redeemed from the story of my sin, this intricate mess is healed.
This vacancy in my heart and soul is where God’s grace abounds. This vacancy is reserved for the redeeming, faithful love of God. The hole in my web is the grace God bestows, and I am restored to life. Continue reading “Intricate Mess”
I walk through the field, alone. So much of it seems familiar, so much past and empty future. The field of brokenness, the field of tears, the field of trials, the field of pain. It is worn. Though it presses in around me, I cannot touch it. I cannot reach it. I walk through it, but not in it. I am beside it, but not a part of it.
I am confused as I reach to touch the old buildings, but can’t. I see the splintered wood, but cannot be pierced by its tattered edges. I run my fingers through the brush, but cannot feel its death. What is this place that I can see, but cannot grasp? How am I here, but unable to feel it?
All around me, loneliness crowds the air. Something so strangely familiar pushes me to my past. Something so strong, so vile, so wicked is pressing me down, and my breath is caught between my racing thoughts. I stand in the midst of this desolation. I turn slowly and all around me is broken.
And I remember. Continue reading “Desolate Fields”
I was a little girl who dreamed. I dreamed of love without flaws. I dreamed of marriage without selfishness. I dreamed of babies without pain. And I realize now my heart full of innocence, and my mind of blue sky. Clouds were just good times and my sky was full of them.
But something grows stronger, as I grow older. Voices yell louder. And they aren’t my own. Voices of cynics and voices of realists. Voices of life and voices of trials. Voices of bitterness, and voices of madness. Voices of lies and voices of truth. Voices crowd the spaces between the clouds, and the echoes of others fill my sky.
They say trials, I say life. They see hardship, I see binding. They cry anger, I find growth. They shout trapped, I whisper committed. They choose feeling, I choose choice. Continue reading “Endless Beginnings”
