I need a reason to let go because until now the interventions and lullabies have lacked the luster to incite me to loosen this grip. I am holding on through release and calling you back in silence. This time I feel I'm just not getting through but by the end of these designated days, hopefully these arms will no longer be empty. Each night, it doesn't end soon enough. Days pass by in a blur of slow moving seconds. They cannot go by fast enough, and would the nights just go faster. By the end of the week, I hope I'm asking them to slow down. I fooled you all when I made it sound like I was more than ready to let go of myself. I'm trying to find truth, I say, but I found it in you and I feel like I've been losing you. That's all it is.

This is a constant battle for vindication. I know not who to believe

I was always such an easy kill when it came to you. Talk of eyes and a future unseen and untouched, like heat to feelings that I wanted so badly to freeze away. I wanted them to stay frozen away in some hidden place where no one, not even myself, would be able to uncover the secrets. Secrets refuse to stay out of sight, much less out of my mind. They all say I’ve certainly gone out of my mind in this search for some level of certainty. That certainty is so elusive these days, these nights. The only thing I am sure of is that sureness will come sometime later, but certainly not now. It’s funny how I am nervous still, even now. Funny how I cannot turn off how I feel. I can’t help it baby, this is who I am. Seems like we always knew each other--but never could quite be ourselves. Is it because of these unsupportive circumstances? Or is it because of circumstantial lack of support? Will support truly be that swayed by our situation? I hope not. I hope in things that I am denied and things I am discouraged from. Discouragement, it only encourages me more. Such a slow fade; I just can’t walk away.

Tell me where you want this to go, because in a time of pure confusion, of one thing I am sure. I am lost. Lost with my home a lifetime away. Even though they would never leave me, I feel so far from the arms that say I belong. False direction has tricked me into believing there is a reason to remain. Remnants of this world cling to my heart, relentless in their nostalgia. I cannot reconcile my heart to the truth when I feel so much apart of this mystery. This place is so mysterious in its clarity, deceptive in its subtlety, all lies exposed to the light. Yet I stay in the darkness, partially of my own accord. Her heart, two pieces battling eternally for wholeness.

reads an excerpt from a poem of mine.
"The art of art has lost its value,
Reduced to a mere farce of fashion.
Paint your style on each day,
Venture out with the world as your gallery..."

rest of the poem:
The art of art has lots its value
Reduced to a mere farce of fashion
Paint your style on each day
Venture out with the world as your gallery
When will we expose ourselves truly
And display the creativity God intended
We are each a purposed masterpiece
Meant for appreciation of true identity
Not what we deem its supposed to be
But only as what we really are
That is true art at its core

We hope to keep safe from the pain, but will we ever open blinded eyes to truth that tells us the pain is part of the perfection? Ugliness gives birth to true beauty when the right hands sculpt it. I find these hands are the safest place to be when pain knocks on a heart not quite strong enough. These hands, these strong hands, open my heart’s door and invite the hurting in. The warm grasp is consistent and eternal. The pain is only a visitor here; it will not conquer like it intends. Instead, it is conquered in turn. It is persuaded and convinced. It becomes one with the hands like I have become one with as well. We all flow together in the river that washes away brokenness and masters suffering. The river flows from those hands, the hands that created perfection. The hands that created perfection created me too. These hands are my home. These hands tell me I belong. These hands have opened my blinded eyes to see the truth: that all movement advances toward beauty, whether set in motion by pain or gladness. If I keep these fresh eyes set on that lovely goal, no circumstance can send me asunder. Take these hands because we’re walking forward. Are you ready to see? Are you ready to move?

I have never felt such pressure without feeling held down
Nor have I felt such stress without carrying a single burden.
There is such freedom within His arms, binding to liberate
Holding back to truly let go. I can never go elsewhere,
But right back into the room where only He holds the key.
I long for freedom and willingly make myself a slave
To experience what the world may view as restraint
But what those at the cross know to be life to its fullest.

There is this desire within me to reach out and take hold of what is not yet mine, and what holds me back is my stubborn ambivalence which cries out for permanent and positive change. Patience is a virtue which has often come knocking, but whom I have never invited in. But the bed now is made, and the bathroom cleaned for a new roommate. He is returning in the form of a blessing with a wealth of traits to complement those resting in me and to scare away those that cower in dark corners. In these hidden corners, I collect bad habits and refuse to let them go. All those visiting before have not minded, but instead added to the heaping piles of shameful traditions and humiliating weaknesses. But patience, in the form of the one He sent, sweeps in and whisks away those things I had kept, remembered, and pretended to not notice. It was a conspiracy I tell you, to clean up my life from the inside out, when I never knew I had been soiled.

We gripe and moan the moment the higher ups choose to do something that weighs heavy on our back pocket. Our eyes are so myopic on that black leather tri-fold; we forget that it

All around are bars of insecurity and walls of last preference. Bright green trees offering shade and escape exist right outside this place but lack of communication locks me in. So many varieties of keys unlock this door and many hands offer to turn them. There is only one hand I want to free me and its owner has their back turned. I cannot get their attention. Lying flat on my back, I stare at concrete ceilings that block stars I could see if I wanted to. I want to, but what I want never wants me. And desire is at the core of freedom, of mine at least. I know it

It tears me apart from the inside out to see your words not match your intentions; to see your actions not match the inventions you craft to make life so much easier for yourself. You claim that lands are discovered in my name or in the name of He who molded them, but why then are they christened bearing your identity? Frustration swells like the tides that change in oceans that will crush rocks with their natural fury and yet you point fingers when I experience natural inclinations. I cannot stand to be constrained in such ways and then painted as the guilty party. Justice will prevail in ways that I cannot control and in a time when control is all I desire. My fingers grasp for influence; my heart screams out for power. I have become my own worst enemy. Why do I do the things I hate to do?

potential poster?

What is there in each of us that makes us think we deserve? As I stumble through this tangle of a path I chose, I fight with all Your strength to keep my eyes closed to what lies on my sides. My strength ran out long ago; I depleted my supply in my efforts to rely only on Yours. It