pull back the zipper lips of this cold, marble façade and rip open the soul, digging at the chest cavity with wrought iron fingers better fit for squeezing the life from my own throat than extending to you any form of hope. this self-deprecation leaves me gasping, rasping, clasping on to a truth i’ve come to believe was only a lie. is there really any use in hoping anymore? you see, i’ve got fish eggs for eyes and mop strings for strands of hair. i’ve got yellow teeth like caution tape and a haggard beard that my momma says she hates. i got more dirt under my nails than a trash compactor and more black on my soul than black-lunged cancer patients waiting in hospices, ready to choke down one last smoke. i’m a monster who drinks lust and dines on the flesh, a hypocrite, a cheapskate, and a fake. so, with God as my witness, i stand not a man but something far more foul and gruesome. i am my own judge, jury, and executioner i am the skeleton hiding in my closet. this here’s the second-hand cigarette smoke that i breathe it’s makin’ its home in these discrepant lungs while these words burn my throat like gasoline rum. and maybe these words are nothing but the stink and filth and rot that i espouse—yet, i’ll fill my lungs with shouts and try and cast aside your doubts. it’s been so long since i’ve had a home seems like every new place i go is fraught with failed expectation. and if the journey’s truly the destination then, why do i so long for the pace to slow? darling, trust me, i am bruising and i am lusting but, i swear, in the end i’ll somehow work it out. my friends, it might be better if you cover your ears submerged beneath the waves of sound and oblivion than listen to the syllables that froth on my lips the foam licking the beach’s shore, like a kiss. i’ve hidden behind ambiguity for God knows how long hiding this—flesh—beneath an exoskeleton. i am a contradiction, and my walk has become a crawl my Bible’s just an ornament hanging in the hall and the fragments of my sanity stain my crimson skin. but, you’ll smile politely, perfect teeth gleaming because you have no idea of the anguish that wrestles in my stomach. she says i’m chasing romance, tryin’ to fill this hole in my heart with temporal happiness, but she’s only right in part. yeah, she’s only right in part! ‘cause, you best believe, i’m lookin’ to be satisfied and no amount of niceties can convince me that i’m anything more than worthless! my momma said, “actions speak louder than words,” so, go ahead, darlin’, say the words you think i need to hear, all the while telling me i’m nothing in a way far more sincere. they say quit lookin’ to your past but it’s so hard when i have no hopes for the future. all that’s passed is shame and regrets and i’ve become defined (confined!) by my guilt. like Simon Peter, i fall at Your feet, “Lord, get away from me, i’m so unworthy.” God, i’m so unworthy, so inadequate. so, how can You tell me that i have value when, for so long, i’ve found security in my insecurities? and, yet, You propose to value the valueless, to give worth to the worthless. oh, Eternal Optimist, come redefine this legacy of mine. ‘cause God You say i’m altogether beautiful and i can see that in everyone else, but when i look at my reflection i am filled to the brim with bitterness and resentment. God, You say i’m beautiful, but i can’t see it! i’m blinded by this broken heart, these lines of red that lacerate my soul. God, how could You ever love a monster like me? i think You’re crazy for loving a wretch like me, for i so often give You the finger when You lean in close to me. how can You love me when i hate me? You love me when i hate me i hate me hate me.

this sickness envelopes mortal form, for pain tastes just so palpable— ‘cause when her wrists burn from the stripes that she placed there, perhaps she’ll then glean some semblance of control. darling, it’s with a heavy heart i write searching for answers in surfacing letters which float like cadavers to the surface of this paper. when we mark our lives with anything but Grace i find that truth is easy to efface. for drowning in self-hate’s undertow we’ve forgotten which way’s up and which way’s down. she’s got a heart made out of empty boxes, built more for temporary storage. she wears pretty dresses and doesn’t even try to hide the battle scars that float upon her skin. in her eyes i see oceans and waves but they mask a past of which she is so afraid. daddy’s cold fists and cold beers went hand-in-hand and his empty soul that longed for a home begged for a solace that transcended control. momma was too busy talkin’ church to recognize her daughter had red lines across her arms. too consumed by her own need to feel worthwhile, she made her daughter feel worthless seeking vanity and labeling it “righteousness.” little girl, only four years old, gettin’ touched in the dark by men full-grown, crying out loud because she’s dying alone where were you, God, while she drowned in her own home? so, she turned to the blade, bled red on her arms and crimson rubies mingled by her wrists as she tried with all her might to have something anything—to control. the razor was serenity, it granted her amnesty from the shouts of her mother and the fists of her father and no one could rip this sanctity from her. little girl, only six-years-old, struggling for some semblance of control. but, soon, this was not enough she needed more than control, needed more than enough, so she lost her heart in an attempt to find it, sold it to a boy with a glimmer in his eye and a shimmer in his smile. he took her dignity from her, but she didn’t care she gave sex to get love because this was just another teenage affair. it made sense to feel at home in his arms, even— even when he was exchanging lewd pictures with other women. she craved intimacy, don’t we all? so she sold her heart for a bronze piece turned priceless into purchased hoping he might reassemble the fragments of her tragic, broken heart. but, this guy was just a boy, craving for your touch, so you gave that kid your everything, hoping it wasn’t too much. and he abused you with his lips the way daddy did with his fists. you didn’t know any better, and how could you? they’ve scorned the trappings of your grandeur in their vanity. this scissor, paper, rock façade has you on your knees making something that couldn’t be any further from love. so, she settled for poppin’ pills and suckin’ down smokes nicotine numbing the nothing that she feels, trying to forget about last night when she— shoved her fingers down her throat or what she did to her wrists so she could cope. how do i convince her that she’s worth it? how can i show her my God died for her? “i’m sorry” sounds so empty when she’s barfing all over the floor. truly, princess, if i could swap this skin for stone, barter blood for brick, i’d be the castle i so long to put you in. how can one begin to express her value in words if she transcends the might of language itself? i know my empty cup can’t fill her but that won’t stop me from dribbling every droplet i have left. all i hope, God, all i wish, is that she learns to embrace the taste of Love’s precious, forever kiss. like the dew that paints the morning grass, her splendor is fresh with every new day. as songbirds raise their melodies high, so, too, should we raise her heart; yeah, her worth is like the sun—for it brings up each new day. bright and blue, and though her smile masks the turmoil she feels inside it’s that smile and those sparkling eyes that make me feel so alive. i’d trash every razor and kiss every scar stand toe-to-toe with the monsters who bartered for her heart and with clenched fists and unmatched fervor fight tooth and nail, fang and claw. i’d ware my flesh down to the bone and fight till these bones were ground to dust. i’d die with her name on my lips, because she is the one that has given me hope through all of my own worthlessness. if i could take every scar from her and make them my own, i’d do so in a heartbeat, because all i want, no, all i need is for her to see there’s not just defeat. i want her to know that when i look into her eyes, i see more than just the scars of her past. i want her to know that i think those scars on her legs, those bruises on her hips, the cigarette burns on her ankles, that they’re just beautiful because they’re a part of her. i want her to know she is gorgeous. i mean, i want her to know that she is lovely. that it’s not a matter of opinion, but the espousal of a fact. that she can turn the pages of Teen Vogue wishing she had a body like that, but, God, i swear, she shouldn’t trade it for the world! i remember sitting in a park as the moon waltzed in the sky and she asked me to write her a song. well, i ain’t so good at singin’, so i wrote her this poem, instead. because, girl, i want you to know: your beauty is like our God’s love— it prevails, regardless of what you think or feel.

“and then,” said the man to the ocean, “come make your home within my chest. i lost my heart so long ago, Lord knows, i need some rest.” but, the torrent of rain wouldn’t cease and his words were lost to sea… there’s a demon devouring his mind, replacing neurons with little gears that grind and gyrate in irregular patterns leaving him fixed with a temporal existence that supersedes understanding replacing synapses with wires, rearranging into a detrimental mentality. and, now, there’s nothing in his chest there’s only a remembrance of loss and death and his mind has been long since dissected, now, nothing remains of consequence. i am driven back to this paper again after another night of screaming my lungs out. built of lust and filled with greed, i am in desperate need of repair. i will carve her name in the clouds. i’m drowning on perpetual tides and i find the best place to kill my anger is in the typhoons of broiling sound waves. i strike out, far out to sea, because the guy i mentioned earlier, well, yeah, that guy is me. i find my peace at home adrift the reeds. i must confess (even if it’s with my last breath,) “i am the culprit, i am the criminal!” the silence of my solitude the chaos-sea in my own mind i cannot seem to leave it all behind. i know what i need now (but i keep dreaming of what i had) and whenever i hear the soft whispers of unconditional love they’re silenced by the roar of my guilt. you built your kingdom in my heart and i will carry the pieces for the rest of my days. i am composed of remorse, i am assembled by my regret. i couldn’t tell the truth, ‘cause, i was afraid i’d lose you seems it’s a bit late for that. i wish i wasn’t so obsessed with tearing myself down. i have become addicted to digging myself a deeper and deeper grave in the ground. when will this be banished? because i can’t stop thinking of the way she used to look at me. it’s devolved into a bitter memory and it seems to me that, with all of this baggage, i’ll never live free. what did all these sleepless nights mean? when i told her i loved her, i swore that i meant it, ten pages, inked in blood, mean nothing because i am a liar, because i am a coward. my enemy is me. as it was written, “Love never fails.” so, why, oh, why am i such a failure?

this morning, i heard a bird sing. he was cryin’ out for his mommy ‘cause he was cold and he was hungry and that little bird, well, he reminded me of me. ‘cept, i wasn’t cryin’ to my mother ‘cause i know that she has been there and i wasn’t callin’ for my daddy, neither. no, we go watch movies each Tuesday— no, see, i was callin’ out to God, beggin’ Him to feed me to fill me up, to hug me, and to say that i’m His son. well, baby bird, i must admit, it’s easy to believe when both of us have got two crystal eyes to help us see. but, if seein’ is believin’, then what’s the use of faith, ‘cause aren’t we supposed to be certain of what we cannot see? and if faith is more than just a lie, well, God, i pray you show me a miracle— ‘cause, it would take a miracle to save a wretch like me! Your Book says i’m Your treasure, but, God, i sure don’t see it, ‘cause my doubts and my betrayals amount to a lot and the skin on my teeth is starting to get worn down from all the caffeine on which i drown. i’ve been standin’ in the rain for God knows how long and though the Florida sunshine’s cutting through, i am more concerned with the rain drops striking my face like bullets. while the devil beats his wife, i’m wishing i had a wife to go home to. ‘cause the night’s so cold and so lonesome, so i hold my pillow and pretend that it’s a beautiful girl. ‘cause, i’ve seen plenty of beauty in a hurricane, the way the wind dances with the trees, reminds me of the way she used to dance for me, and the way the lightning splits the sky reminds me of the streetlights that Wednesday night when we drove through Jacksonville, singin’ Anberlin and Paramore— but, this metaphor for a storm does not transcend the human experience, no, my friends, the storms of life leave me destitute and pissed off. well, i’ve learned an awful lot from all my tears and all my pain but, God, if You’re the Author, whydju hafta send the rain? Painter, paint me a new picture, one in which i do not stray preferably one in which i don’t hafta watch her walk away. and, Lord knows, i’m frothing over with bitterness, like a— like a pint of beer poured far too heartily, and the word “hope” is eclipsed by her memory and even as these words catch in my throat— when i think about that smile, i still can’t help but grin. i’ve learned an awful lot from all my tears and all my pain and, maybe it’s true, that God is just chillin’ in the rain, but, i’m still wishing i didn’t hafta feel this pain. we stopped checking for monsters beneath our beds, we found out they live inside of us, instead. don’t ever let them point fingers at you, my friends, ‘cause they don’t know the hurt we hold inside. we wear our scars like our hearts, affixed to a sleeve, and they tremble with fear at our honesty. and, though we try to compartmentalize our problems and smile for the camera, we’re still never good enough for them, are we? yeah, ‘cause we got specks in both our eyes, but they’ve got fucking logs! and, if i was to be honest, i think i’ve got an oak tree makin’ its home in my iris, but, i know you kids are still beautiful and sanctified, justified and purified, and my heart breaks ‘cause you just don’t know it—yet. don’t you ever let someone look down on you ‘cause you’re young. unless they approach the throne room like a child, wide-eyed and blissful, then they’ll never understand what it means to sit on their Daddy’s knee. don’t you ever let them get you down because you’re feelin’ down, never forget that it’s alright to be hurt and it’s alright to be angry, but, i implore you, don’t make my mistakes, don’t build your home in your resentment, it’s far too easy to fill yourself with hate. no, my friends, instead search for love, for that is all of the above! passionately pursue peace. go find your rest in Him, your Father’s arms are spread wide for each and every single one of His prodigal children. is this blasphemy or is it just an intonation of reality? don’t tell me you enjoy the emptiness that claws at you inside. God is in the rain, and i am fighting to find my first breath so that i can gasp as i grasp for some fresh air.

she says, “c'est la vie,” “that’s life,” says she, but, i want to thrive, not just survive. when our lives are all but picturesque we begin to bemoan our own existence. she says, “c’est la vie,” “that’s life,” says she, but, oh, my darling, it shouldn’t be. ‘cause we’re all but fish caught in this Fisher’s net sent out again so we can fish for men. she says, “c’est la vie,” “that’s life,” says she, but, i can’t even begin to see past the circumstances that cloud my life to the nails that pierced His hands that tearful Friday afternoon. see, i’ve been searching for some meaning i thought i knew what i had planned but, the Planner laughed, said, “son, you just don’t understand, i am the Author of Existence and i prescribed you for something greater,” but, what is it, God? could You give me a hint? ‘cause while i wait for You to show me the way i’m losing myself in counting my woes. she says i need to learn to love myself, but what’s my motivation? You say i’m beautiful, the most precious of Your Creation, but, i abuse myself with myself and i abhor myself with myself because, i don’t know if You noticed, but i’m a wreck. i search for love in all the wrong places, maybe in the silverscreen or naked on my computer screen, but, gosh, it seems it sure ain’t there. so while i struggle for the words, i’m probably sounding quite absurd yet, it doesn’t change the fact that i think i’m better off with what i had, yeah, ‘cause, i keep second-guessing myself and doubting You have a plan doubting that You came down to die for a wretch like me. Father, You’ve taught me a lot about love but a lot more about loss and, as of now, i’m lurching from the turn and from the toss of this monumental storm. and, maybe it’s just happening so i’ll part with my mask and sing Your praises, God, ‘cause that’s what You deserve. y’know, for an optimist, i’m pretty pessimistic, i can identify the problems with far more clarity and undermine Your perfect authority because i’m obsessed with myself. yeah, it’s kinda funny, ‘cause as much as i hate me i got a funny way of showin’ it, spoiling myself rotten with self-indulgence. i used to get so angry at the Church because it ostracized me for the way i dress ‘cause i looked up to dudes with tattoos on their skin and i listened to what they said about the Bride’s corruption, convinced that they were correct in every form but, i didn’t even understand the essence of the word. “fags will roast in hell,” is what their signs would read and, i swear to God, it used to make me turn so angrily. with all my heart, i wanted to make them burn, break off their pointing fingers and silence them for good. how could a God who loves condone this choice of action? Jesus flipped tables on the Pharisees, and in my misguided wrath i thought my fury was somehow justified. and then i remembered my King, who begged His Father to forgive the very men who drove a spear into his side. so, God redeemed that broken part of me and showed me that His heart breaks for all His creation. this endless finger-pointing won’t get us anywhere. we must move past addressing the issues that are all-too apparent and begin the tough work of actually fixing them. Jesus’ heart broke for both the mute and the lame, the leper and the paralytic. His heart breaks for free-thinkers and legalists, just the same. you see, we’re all the Church, we’re all the Bride redeemed by Christ and sanctified, but we still love to act just like a whore. yet, according to Him, we’re still lovely He even frees our eyes to see that there’s more to His beloved than just our flaws. despite the fact that we’re enticed by other men, He still sees fit to offer us His hand. oh, what Grace, and we so underserving this beautiful mystery defies understanding. this Great Romance: forgiveness without end.

you labor beneath an oppressive thumb not realizing that the very leaders you exalt will use that power to hold you down. you’ve armed them with the greatest of weapons: blind conformity. empty acceptance. unquestioning obedience. you dwell comfortably within the confines of ignorance, misguided by misinformation splayed across the tv screen. what you believe in is but a puppet. as democracy devolves, we increase in callousness. masses defined by a singular purpose: to extinguish original thought. accept or die. embrace or be ostracized. this culture is crippled by its complacency, putting stock in empty men who mask deception with eloquence. am i the only one who finds this troubling— that our society demonizes those who think outside the box? we authorize the torture of millions on the conjunction of justice. we stood by while thousands were slaughtered so the rich could fill their pockets. chemical gases infecting the innocent, minefields tearing malnourished children asunder. fight fire with fire? what a ridiculous concept! how can we hope to extinguish a flame if all we do is feed its embers? an eye for an eye will blind this world, we are all culprits, victims of what we think we deserve. defiantly, we drown on our thirst for revenge pretentiously labeling vengeance as just. our government would rather fight skirmishes for oil than acknowledge the fact that a man is kidnapping kids in Africa and forcing them to become soldiers. our leaders would rather squabble over economics than look past their own noses to the little girls sold into sex slavery in our very country! instead of filling the empty stomachs of starving children big name corporations line their designer jackets with green, not even willing to give free meals to the homeless in our own neighborhood. there is something terribly wrong when this city forbids us to give food to the hungry. wrapped in the red, white, and blue we subjugate innocents in fruitless attempts to glean information of our perceived enemies. our actions are the furthest thing from righteous, because, believe it or not, the ends do not justify the means. we can talk all we want about bravery and honor, muse about the heart of liberty and the strength of democracy, but if our army is abusing children, then who the fuck are the bad guys? i’m tired of the whispers that roar like machine gun fire, violence is never the answer and i refuse to stand by and watch as we deprive other human beings of their rights to a choice. we fancy ourselves noble, cramming “freedom” down their throats, bringing this “Brave New World” into the foreground, guns held high, shoving our weapons in the faces of those too weak to protest, speaking anything but softly, gloating, drunk on the illusion of power. and this is supposed to be a “Christian Nation?” we so adamantly admire our forefathers for writing down “Christian morals” in the American constitution, but only because we’re ignorant of the fact that they promoted slavery, larceny, and embezzlement. this is a Christian country? where we promote cynicism all throughout the media? we’re so eager to teach our children the purpose of power, promoting arrogance, neglecting to remember that those who live by the sword will die upon its edge. we’re so quick to throw out the instrumental teachings of Jesus simply because they’re inconvenient: selflessness, non-violence, unconditional love. and, yet, the funny thing is, you’ll probably be more worried about the f-bomb i dropped in this poem than the bombs ripping Iraqi innocents to shreds on a daily basis. this senseless violence must come to an end. beat your swords to plowshares and seek peace.

we live in a shallow world filled with shallow people answers sought for everywhere, save the broken Steeple. we’re artificial, superficial, time cannot erase the plastic bags and shopping carts we’re helplessly displaced. celebrity magazines deceivingly glimmering it all seems just so fickle. “mingle with hot singles,” ‘cause that’s what love is, right? objectification? reality television, painting a portrait that scapegoats our own wavering convictions. aestheticism and poeticism, coupled with romanticism traded for oiled skin and muscle tone and all of this vehemently condoned. when broken homes and wise-word tomes are rarely intertwined it’s times like these, we search like thieves, for what’s impossible to find. encouraged to offend, scorned if we can’t pretend i didn’t know it possible to drown in the shallow end. with aching hearts, crude body parts, we’ll search for love again but perfect Love, though we may seek, is not of human plans. crude hands rubbing skin sand-paper throats choking down alcohol blacking out and waking up in pools of our own vomit, sweat, and spit. pissed upon by friends who think it’s all a joke while we lay unconscious, Death’s fingers about our throat. three hundred and fifty channels promoting a valueless existence, confusing sex with love, forcing us to deep-throat madness. sanity has ruptured, leaving room only for confusion. we are a mess, and this is my conclusion: we’re obsessed with leading lives devoid of faith, hope, and love. for, what am i but the resounding clang of a cymbal? if i have not love, i am nothing, i tell you, nothing! we sit on university campuses, pretending we’re awesome while starving children are yearning for the extra half of the cheeseburger we just threw away. we part with our reality, we bask in our anxiety ‘cause we’re afraid of what it means to be vulnerable. i remember reading that love is vulnerability and we can’t begin to love unless we engage in a dance of transparency but, this openness is mindlessness because i hide my insecurities behind my extroversion. i talk about God like i know Him, but i ain’t got the slightest clue ‘cause if i really knew what He did on Calvary, if i knew what He did for me then, maybe i’d start acting like i actually need Him. i wrap myself up comfortably in my anger, arrange my heart with earnest trivialities and blanket my sadness with filth, yeah, ‘cause i’d rather be pissed off than to hafta feel this hole that’s in my heart and it’s easier to be irate because when i can’t see past my rage it’s easier to forget the Cross and what it means for you and for me. if i truly believed, i’d live my life so differently i’d quit pretending i was the only one who mattered start breathing in the Spirit and exorcising disaster. each and every one of our black hearts has known the kiss of grace yet we seek the lives that seem to me so easy to replace. we ask the question a thousand times, “why must it end this way?” in the end, it’s just a matter of rhyme, we’re nigh impossible to dissuade. we live in a beautiful world filled with beautiful people, infused with rich community, far more important than any Steeple. we burn the tangible things of the world and search for love in all the right places, ‘cause at the end of the day, we realize we can’t take anything past the grave. so, show the world that you still hold hope. victory outweighs the burden of regret, and i’m just beginning to find the answers to all the queries that lurk within my chest. don the full Armor of God, so you can be firm against the lies of the Enemy. stand strong in the face of wickedness and with all your breath scream, “you have no power here! you shall not pass!” you are more than a conqueror. i will never ever forget that the easiest route is only the cheapest way out. i’m reminding myself to live above and beyond my regret.