Oh December…

Almost seems poetic to lose the two people you’ve  fallen with in the first week of December your first and last semesters of college. The first, a dear friend that could never love a woman in return. The second, also a dear friend, deciding she never wants to marry. 

Wonder what might happen December my first semester of graduate school…

Maybe I’ll fall in love with someone in a position of authority or someone already married or some other forbidden love…


Pirates on a boat ⛵️

When she buys you a leatherbound journal and other pirate themed things, you can’t help but write her a love letter as if you had just sailed away on a pirate mission and can’t wait to return to her soon. 💕

My heart

My heart

I will cherish this moment…forever.

I love your head on my shoulder, your hand in my hand. 

I want to hold you…forever.

Forever can be a scary word but it doesn’t scare me with you. I know forever may not play out the way I envision and that’s ok. 

Whether for a season or forever, I want you to feel loved. I want to always be growing and learning to love you better.

If I love Him more than I love you, I know I will love you better. His love fills in all the gaps.

But oh how I would love…to hold you…forever.

Sometimes I wish…

Sometimes I wish there was a pill…
or a drink…
or something I could smoke…
to just make it go away.

I know that’s not the right answer though…
But what exactly is?

How connected are the spiritual and the physical?
Should prayer fix everything?

The need…the want for an immediate fix
permanent fix?
is that even possible with this kind of problem?

I wish I understood it all better.
I wish I understood a lot of things better…

Writing helps…yeah…
but I need to be getting things done.

Maybe writing, a temporary fix, is necessary to get anything done sometimes.

A pill…drink…smoke…
It’ll just make things worse, right?

Interesting, isn’t it?
We want more control over circumstances,
irritated, anxious, depressed where we are…

So what do we do?
We completely surrender control of our bodies to substances we, most likely, don’t understand the consequences of.

dry, red day

were all the pieces now falling together
as the walls crumbled and fell apart

she was there
as if pulled from a magazine or runway
tall, long legs. skinny.
perfect … if you define beauty that way

he was there also
perfect by no one’s definition
but kind, very kind
if you like that sorta thing

my lips are chapped
I do hate when my lips are chapped
its distracting my train of thought
so many people and voices

if I’m being honest
there wasn’t ever really a train
more like cars flying down a highway
always different colors
sometimes small and blue
like tears falling
falling … ah yes the walls

the walls were crumbling and falling apart
red. red were the cars that day
a few black ones here and there
blue would come … but its not time for that yet

red. red like the blood from the cut
of my dried lips … dry
all the energy soaked up and spit away

it was a dry, red day

but blue came later…
small, blue cars
like tears falling

all the pieces were falling together
as the walls crumbled and fell apart


I ran down the silent, empty street. All I could hear were my Converse hitting the asphalt under shallow puddles. I saw nothing but the place where my next step would land. I ran. I ran as fast as I knew how and didn’t dare look back. Racing around a corner and down a dark alley, sweat drained down my face. As I looked ahead of me, I cursed under my breath. For whatever reason, God had decided to put a gate here in this alley. I wasn’t in the mood for climbing, but I had no choice. Jumping up, I grabbed hold of the fence and started climbing. Footsteps, coming quickly in my direction, echoed down the alley as I reached the top of this godforsaken obstacle. My pants caught on the gates edge. Would this really be my end? An old gate to keep out dogs and jeans that should have been thrown out long ago. Ripping at my old, faded jeans I took a leap of faith. Literally. Hands now bleeding, jeans ripped,and legs burning from the impact of the jump, I struggled to pick up speed. It was dark. I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of me. Then suddenly, I couldn’t see at all.

This is all I can remember. I woke up in this small, cold room. One door. No handle. No windows. Just three black walls and a single light bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. Three walls. God has a funny way of showing up. From the pain in my stomach, I assumed that I had been unconscious for a few days.  My head throbbed. He must have knocked me out with something. I could remember every detail of that night. Every detail that I saw. The street, the alley, the gate. The darkness. I could even remember the cold breeze on my face. But why was I running? My clothes were ripped and there was blood smeared everywhere. I looked down at my stained red hands. Had I killed a man? Or was the blood my own? I couldn’t remember. God doesn’t approve of killing. Perhaps that is why I’m here. Something caught my eye. There was a black and silver ring hidden beneath the red of my hands. Rubbing off the blood with my shirt, I brought the ring up to the light. My eyes were tired and struggled to make out the engravings it held.

“She’s awake,” the old man’s voice was quiet.

“I know.”

“What now?” he asked.

“We wait.”

Rain falling to the ground. Tears streaming down her face. She watched as puddles of red formed around her. Glass shattered. Heart pounding. Blood dripping. Mind racing. Everything … gone.

“Help!” the voice screamed. “Help!” Suddenly my eyes opened. My body jerked upward. Sweat dripped from my face. I looked around my dark, empty room. There was nothing. There was never anything. Just me and God around me. Remembering my dream, I realized the voice had been my own. Images from my nightmare raced through my head. I looked toward the door, wondering if anyone had heard my screams. Sometimes I wondered if He ever dreamed. I suppose He’s too busy for things like that.