What are you doing? What am I thinking?

What is going on? First you love me, you make me feel special, happy… Then you realize you need to work on yourself.  Okay fine, I’ll be here with you through the process.  But wait, it gets better!  You get back with your ex right after you rip my heart out with your words.

I cried myself to sleep for days on end.  I felt like I wasn’t enough for you, but why?  You’re the one who drinks to forget, you’re the one who doesn’t love yourself, and you’re the one who went back to the woman who made your hair fall out!  By all means, enjoy yourself!

Fast forward.

I’m thriving.  Succeeding in almost every area of my life.  Working on myself, my faith and becoming a stronger woman.  We speak again.  You mention not being happy – I’m not surprised.  But then, you say you’re still torn, torn over ME.  What do you mean?

“You had your chance.  You messed up.”  I say.

Do I believe that?

Why is my heart racing?

He continues to say he’s sorry and that I was right (as usual).  He says he still cares.  That “hypothetically” we could try again.

I’m blushing.

I like the idea.

No! I tell myself.  What are you doing even considering this man who used you and tossed you to the side as easily as a piece of trash?  You don’t deserve that!

What am I thinking?

Why does his voice tempt me still?  I thought I was over it?

But after that conversation, I don’t know what to think…

All I know that he hurt me and he has a lot of work to do on himself.

What do I know about myself?  I’m doing well, I love my life and my independence… but now what?  Let a confused man ruin all that?

Of course not!

Yet, my heart weighs heavy.

What do I do?  What do I think?

The Wind

This short poem is inspired by fall.  Fall is full of new beginnings, full of freshness.  As all of us head back to school, it really is an amazing opportunity to change and work on ourselves.  Just like the seasons, people can change to – for the better.

 

I need this. I want this.
I’ve made mistakes, I’ve hurt others, hurt myself…
But I’m changing.
Just like the seasons.
Outside the green leaves age, become crisp and drift off of their branches.
The sweet, sweet air whispers a chill, and guides the leaves to their next destination.
He is my wind. He whispers to me, and guides me.
The season, fresh, has given me something.
Something so special.
The breeze brings with it a new beginning.
An end to some plants.
An end to old ways.
The chill of autumn warms my heart.
I feel renewed.
I am changed.
The Wind has granted me peace despite my transgressions.
The Wind gives new birth.
The Wind changes, rearranges, and perfects…

I Hate This…

It consumes me. It’s all I think about. I want to lash out. I want to hit you.
My heart aches. It pounds quickly. It feels like my heart is trying to escape my chest.
I cry. The tears burn my eyes. I’m so angry.
This isn’t rational, I know. But I can’t stop.
I can’t stop thinking about what you did to me.
I can’t stop replaying each conversation, wishing I had said what I really wanted to.
My body is shaking. I’m gasping for air. I need to destroy something.
I see you almost every day. You act so cool and collected. Nothing bothers you.
You have no emotion. No care for anyone or anything other than yourself.
That’s what I hate. You simply don’t care. Yet I care too much.
I care so much that I want to explode.
I want to scream and lash out. I want to tell you the truth.
But it doesn’t matter.
You don’t matter.
I’m so angry. It consumes me.
You consume me.
You hold so much power over me – I hate it.
I hate this…

Love Like an Arrow

Sometimes I wonder,
What my life would be like,
Had I never met you.
If I never knew the
Taste of your lips,
The heat of your body.
Do I wish it never happened?
“No never, I must have loved you.”
Despite your disregard for my values,
I stayed around, always for you.
That one night, you left a rose on my doorstep,
A rose and a note professing your “love”.
You never loved me, but you convinced me,
Convinced us all.
That last night together
We ate dinner silently,
I searched for words as you poked at your food,
Why couldn’t we carry a conversation?
Everything I thought, you thought the opposite.
I stayed and I tried, always for you.
Why did I try so hard?
Was it love?
Who is supposed to know when they are in love?
It strikes silently,
In the middling of night,
Like an arrow whispering through the air.
Then it hits.
It stings.
It bleeds.
It aches.
Is love what I had for you?
The painful,
Mind boggling,
Heart sweltering feeling I once knew?

Better

 

What have I done? What am I doing?
I’ve ruined relationships, hurt people. I’ve lied, stolen and cheated.
I have walked away from my faith, allowing the world to change me and influence every part of me.
I have been mean, so mean. So unkind it’s grotesque.
I’ve fallen in love with the wrong men out of desperation.
Desperation… Why?
Because I am afraid of being unlovable.
I am afraid of being alone.
I am afraid of myself.
I’ve made countless mistakes. Committed every sin.
How do I get past it? How do I forget the horrendous person I used to be in order to move on? In order to be better…
Maybe I shouldn’t forget.
Maybe this pain I feel in my heart from hurting others and myself is good.
It reminds me that I’m alive and very much human.
I’m human.
What does that mean?
I breathe, I eat food, I drink water…
I’m broken. I’m ashamed. I’m guilty.
That’s what it means to be human.
To feel.
To remember.
To live.
I want to live, but not like this.
I love my humanity, it reminds me of who I need to be.
Humanity drives me. Humanity loves me. Humanity forgives me.
Forgiveness…
I need it. I crave it.
I’ve made mistakes and I can’t live with myself knowing I am not forgiven.
He forgives me. He heals me. He makes me strong.
My faith leads me, guides me through the darkest of times.
I am whole in Him. I am content in Him.
He makes me new, giving me a fresh start. A fresh start to be better.
I am better…

Because I Love You

 

Everything I do
Is because I love you.
I love the way you smile,
The way your eyes light up
When you talk about things you adore.
I love the way you snore in your sleep,
The way you twitch and bump into me as you doze off.
I love the ways in which you talk to others,
Treat others,
Welcome others.
I love the way you carry yourself,
Despite your own insecurities.
I love your dedication,
Your hard work.
Everything I do
Is because I love you.
I love you,
And I pray for your heart every morning.
As the birds sing praises,
I eagerly give all to God.
I give Him you.
You know I love you – but…
But you are not well, my darling.
You are torn, fighting yourself on the inside.
You don’t love yourself,
I can see that.
Remember that I love you,
And because I love you I am letting you go.
I want you to heal,
To grow
And to love yourself.
Now is not our time,
And it’s okay.
Our time may be later,
But for now I love you.
Because I love you,
I am letting you go…

Historical Fiction: My City

The moon’s light broke through my blinds as I tried to fall asleep. Nothing like a world war keeps you up late night after night of wondering if Hitler will choose to dispose of your people… How could he do such a thing? How can he be stopped?
A flash of light clouded my thoughts. I jumped out of bed, nearly gasping at how cold the floor was below my bare feet, and rushed to the window. My nightgown drifted just above my toes; the fabric shook as I shivered from the winter cold.
My fragile hand drew back the drapes, and I stealthily let one eye peek out the window. A shocking breath escaped my dry lips.
They’re here.
Tanks and soldiers quietly entered the city, walking along my neighborhood streets, guns at the ready.
I swallowed past the ball in my throat and forced myself to move. Rushing to my closet, I yanked my coat from a hanger and hurried to my parents’ room. Knocking on the door first, I let myself in.
They were both sound asleep, oblivious to the horrors approaching just beyond our home’s walls.
“Momma, Papa! Wake up, the Nazis are here!”
My father moaned and squished his face into the pillow; momma began to stir. I ran to kneel by her side, “Momma, we need to do something! What if they are back for the Lewinskys? For us?”
Her blue eyes shot open. Her penetrating gaze frightened me as we stared at each other for a moment, then, she turned to Papa.
“Darling,” she shook his body, “darling wake up!”
He growled at her, “What is it?” Papa turned and rubbed his eyes wearily, then he saw me. I must have looked afraid for he sat up and began to violently tug off the blankets surrounding him, as if he were trapped.
“They’re here.” She mumbled. My father rushed to his window to see the Nazis for himself.
“They’ve already been here! Why would they come back!” He quickly shut the curtains and fell to his knees on the floor, rummaging underneath the bed. After a few sounds of knocking wood, Papa stood straight with a Luger in his hand.
“Go get your sister,” he pointed a finger at me. I silently agreed.
Then, his gaze fell upon Momma’s, “Get the other Lugers and take the girls into the attic with the Lewinskys. Do not come out unless I come to get you.”
She crossed her hands in her lap and nodded; tears escaped her chocolatey eyes.
My father rushed out of the room, and I followed suite towards my sister’s bedroom. I placed a hand on the cold door handle, and paused. Sending a quick prayer to the Lord, I attempted to calm myself. If my sister saw my nervousness, she would be a wreck.
I walked into the small girlish room, unable to speak. Her pale face had an expression of calm – I couldn’t wake her. Carefully, I picked her up in my arms and grabbed one of her coats on the way out. Behind my mother, I quickly made my way to the library. She was holding Papa’s backpack full of Lugers. The library was unusually silent, a heaviness lingered in the space.
Slowly, momma pulled one of the books on the shelf and pushed on the wall, opening the secret door to the attic.
Papa is brilliant for having that built, even before the war started.
I slipped inside the narrow space with my sister, and began to ascend up the staircase. Despite the pitch blackness, I found my way to the top. Momma followed close behind after shutting the library door quietly.
At the top of the stairs, I knocked the code knock for the Lewinsky family to recognize. The door swung open after minutes of waiting. Mrs. Lewinsky looked a mess at opening the door. Her eyes looked swollen from crying and her lips were in a grim line.
The three of us entered, not wanting to say anything.
Both of our families could end up being killed by a gun squad for this.
I gently laid my sister on the small, old couch covering her with the coat I grabbed from her closet. Mr. and Mrs. Lewinsky spoke in urgent whispers with my mother a few feet away. She motioned to the bag of Lugers. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jakob staring blankly towards me.
I stepped to his side for comfort. Years of hiding and now they are here…
Explosions, gunshots, and blood curdling shouts rattled the house – and my sanity.
The six of us sat together in a huddle praying for God to rescue us from the doomed outcome. No one cried.
Suddenly, I could hear the front door creak open. Multiple footsteps scurried around the main floor. A whimper escaped Mrs. Lewinsky’s throat.
My mother had given me a Luger some hours ago, and I could feel my hand tighten around it. More sound moved towards the library. My heart beat nearly out of my chest. Minutes later, the hidden door swung open, allowing us to hear the Nazis come, closer and closer – the door swung open and I immediately stood with my Luger pointing straight at my father.
“Papa?” I lowered my weapon and stood, shaking.
Papa welcomed in soldiers with American uniforms. He gestured to them, “These men are here to take back our city from the Reich. They have agreed to protect us.”
Claps and tears of gladness broke the tension in the room. The soldiers watched us with sincere smiles; they gave each other pats on the backs.
They were here to save us; to save my city.

Don’t Leave Me

His lips soft against mine. Then more pressing. Hands sliding down my body, gently, slowly. Touching every inch of me. They please me. They make me cry out. But then it hurts.
Then, I touch him. I glide my tongue along him. I tease him with my plump lips. Please him with my body. Ever so slowly. Ever so longingly…
The night ends. My legs shake from exhaustion, our hearts beat restlessly together. His chest moves up and down strongly. I watch mesmerized.
At a last embrace I cling to him. To his strong body. His muscular arms wrap around my fragile figure like a fortress. I am safe. I am protected. I am weak.
“Don’t leave me,” I want to beg.
His body is warm against my skin. It gives me chills of comfort. I shiver.
Our lips meet one last time, and I want to cry. He leaves. Slowly, turning to give me a grin before escaping.
I shut the door. The door, a prison gate. And suddenly I’m alone. Lonely.
I lay in bed, craving his nearness. I yearn for him to hold me while I sleep. Maybe his presence can keep the nightmares away. The trembling. The crying.
I’m alone. Thinking, remembering and embracing the idea of how his skin felt upon mine. How he felt inside me… My body aches.
The dark of night seemed to surround me, haunt me and crowd me. I felt constricted. Afraid. Nervous.
Alone. Alone confuses me. Alone attacks me. I am uncertain of myself. But with him I feel certain. Oh how I crave his closeness.
Once alone I ponder my choices, my soul and my mind. I think till I want to carve my brain out of my skull. I dig myself into a never ending hole. I dig my own grave.
It’s as though I can feel the dirt being poured onto my chest. The weight breathtaking.
I need touch. I need him. I need help.
Alone frightens me. I am not who I am. I am uncomfortable.
Don’t leave me.

The Weary in Heart

Why do I feel this way? Like a blade cut through my soul, like a rock cracked my skull, like a fall battered my body… Are my hormones controlling my feelings over reason? Is it simply biological processes influencing my heart? The work of hormones and chemicals that will one day bless my belly with a bulge of life?
Perhaps I am merely dramatic. Perhaps this is all my fault! I allow unworthy things – and people – to taint the condition of my heart. I care wholly too much.
Why do I do this? Why do I subconsciously force myself into pain, into heartbreak, into personal suffering that need not happen?
I am a fool.
I possess enough hope to keep a drowning ship afloat – too much hope. I believe in the best, only ever the best. I believe that the sun will drop below the horizon, allowing darkness for a time, but the light will return once again. It has to.
I believe all people, regardless of color or background, are inherently good. At the core of our souls, we must be good. For if we weren’t, what would this life look like?
Are my judgements childish, naïve, silly? Perhaps. But they are mine, unique to me and my heart.
How do people have malice in their hearts? If the all loving God has created each and every one of us with precision and care, who truly has cause to hate, to kill, to destroy?
However, this world is broken. Humans enjoy self destruction. We certainly wouldn’t admit such a thing, yet we can’t allow ourselves to be happy, to prosper, to enjoy life step by step! Why is this? Because of the downfall of man. We have free will, and we certainly practice it.
We do what we want and what the world tells us is “right”. The world itself is not good, but there is goodness in the world. There is always goodness.
If all was evil, if every mother lost a child, if plants refused to grow in fruitful soil, if the sun never rose again, we would know there isn’t a God. But indeed there is. Amidst the darkness and cruelties of this world, there is a child laughing, a couple falling in love, an entrepreneur pursuing their dreams and succeeding.
The stormy skies surround me, and make me feel glum. Make me feel cloudy in mind, heavy in heart, tired in body. But all will be well once again, He assures me this.
A smile will touch my lips soon enough and the sun will continue to rise and greet me in the mornings.
This life is hard, it is beautiful, joyous and gratifying – but hard. The turbulence is breaking me down, and I don’t know how, but I will rise again. Rise like the sun, like a bird in flight, eager to sing praises of the Creator among humankind, among the weary in heart.

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