A Few New Years Ago

A few

New Years ago,

You possess’d

A piece of my heart

Even though

Physically

We were far

Apart.

 

We met online,  you

Could say I was

Smitten;

I guarded my

Heart, but guess

Every word

Written

Fooled me once,

Twice,

Thrice.

 

A few

New Years ago,

You possess’d

A piece of my heart

Even though

Physically

We were far

Apart.

 

Although you’re

Gone, you

Disapparated from

My life,

Your influence haunts

Me still,

Causing me strife;

I know a man from

Work,

Similar to you,

Who’d love to take

Me in his arms,

To call me his “Boo”–

He has a flower between

His fingers already,

But that should not matter,

They’re only going

Steady.

 

A few

New Years ago,

You possess’d

A piece of my heart

Even though

Physically

We were far

Apart.

 

Man alive, I’d assum’d

You were the only

One

Who was in tune

With me;

But me? I guess

I was only there

To be comforting

You; running

My fingers through

Virtual hair.

I s’ppose I should

Count myself

more than

Bless’d

To have you let

Me be.

 

A few

New Years ago,

You possess’d

A piece of my heart

Even though

Physically

We were far

Apart.

 

You painted a handsome,

“Understanding,”

Face

On sinfulness, shock and

Shameful disgrace;

Your cover

Blown, you then

Finger-point–

Fine, I’ll

Leave,

And would soon rather

Anoint

My True Someone Special.

You accuse,

His Grace redeems,

You caged me,

He set me free,

You pinned blame on me with

Words as sharp as tacks,

He freed me from shame

With whip lashes

On His back.

It does not matter

What I’ve done.

It only matters

Who I’ve since become.

 

A few

New Years ago,

You possess’d

A piece of my heart

Even though

Physically

We were far

Apart.

This New Year, I’ve left you since,

I’ve done more than my time,

More than my share

Of penance; 

I’ve hidden my heart, 

Guarded it better,

Saved it for the One

Who freed me from my

Fetters. 

 

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Author’s Note: The song, “Last Christmas,” inspired me strongly this season, particularly Britt Nicole’s cover of the song. I’d work and hear it over the loudspeaker again and again, and could relate very strongly to the lyrics. But, not wanting to swipe the song and just give it a few tweaks (copyright and all), decided to do my own lil completely new but still inspired poetry piece based off of what feelings, thoughts, and personal experiences I could relate to from the song. Needlesstosay, mine’s probably the more, “Gospel-oriented,” version, in a way. 😉 

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Down to Bed, Up to Heaven

Down to Bed, Up to Heaven

Now I lay me

Down to bed,

Closing mine eyes, I

Rest my weary head.

If breath doth fail

Before I awaken,

I do presume, then

My soul to be

Taken

Away from the

Misery

And life’s woes,

No longer worrying

O’er mere earthly foes.

The battle was fought,

The battle was won–

My Lord greets me,

“Dear Friend–

Well Done.”

 

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In loving memory of Jane Moore, mother, grandmother, sister and mother-in-law. Passed away the eve of Sept. 25th, 2018, EST. Age: 87.

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Image Credit:

http://willoughbyandassociates.com/tools/puerta-del-cielo.php

 

 

Trigger Finger (previously entitled, “Trigger’d”)

Trigger Finger (previously entitled, “Trigger’d”)

Red

Is all I see

Reflecting off the comments,

Right back at me.

My heart revs like a

Car doing seventy

In a thirty; my

Hands quake, as though

Naught could

Slake

My nerves’ anxiety.

 

The words, so

Carelessly

Typed–

Weren’t they out

Of angst, anger, or some

Other injustice, even

Murder?–

Pierc’d my vessel

Straight to my

Soul,

Making my skin

Flush more crimson

Than hot coals;

My shaky hands, I try

To control

Because

If I do

Not

Then my

Whole

Being

And Nature

Is subject

To the

Sin.

 

I swallow, I weep,

I breathe, then

After

Thought…

Delete.

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Image Credit:

The Statue

The Statue

I saw sitting on

The porch swing today

A small bird that had

Yet to fly away.

Speck’ld and still,

It must have

Taken

Great skill

And courage

To stay put.

To be curt, I

I thought it

Had been hurt,

Or even

Deceas’d,

For its verbos’ty

And movements

Had near but

Ceas’d.

I got close, just a pinch

But the still little

Bird

Did not even flinch.

I sat down

On the swing,

But the brave avian

Had moved not a wing.

It watched me with

The watchful blink,

I had to wonder,

What to think.

bird1

Fear

(TRIGGER WARNING: This poem encompasses some of my darkest, inner fears, from a formerly depressive and suicidal-thinking young woman. I would never actually physically do this to myself, but I won’t lie and say I’ve never been tempted to do so, to protect myself in a bizarre, harmful fashion. It is entirely possible to guess my primary fear from this poem alone.)

 

***It claws at

Me,

Hungry,

Caged,

Trapped

Inside; a monster

Yearning for

Release.***

 

I peer into the

Depths

Of the mirror; A

Wide set of

Gray, shifting

Eyes, rimmed

With long

Dark

Lashes

Peer back; I

Gently trace my curves

With my knife,

Knowing

What must be

Done.

I make the scarring

Incisions, one by

One, til the

Deed

Is finally

Done.

Scars and bruises,

I am bloodied-up

Refuse;

The natural rouge

Shall be my new

Look, lashes snipped off the

Lids, little jagged lines running

All across

My lips.

Dagger marks around my

Thighs,

With my knife handy, I’ve

Cut down twice my

Size.

Chunks of hair

Ripped, chopped out

Without a

Care

In the entire world.

No longer lovely,

But no longer

In

Harm’s

Way.

 

Beauty can so

Easily become

A target

For men to

Market,

Or to just

To take

And never

Give, but if I

Want to

Live

Not just survive, it

Is not enough

To remain

Only alive.

 

I breathe.

I believe

That

.

.

.

I

Am

Safe

Now.

 

***Author’s note: The first stanza is told from another perspective. Contrary to the belief of some, I do not have a fear of men; I know, just like women, they are a barrel of mixed apples– some good, others bad. I have met both, and often befriended some of the good ones. I have brothers, biological and in Christ. This is not meant to be taken as a feminist rant against those men, as I do not consider myself a feminist by today’s standards, no, especially by today’s standards. This is not a poem against men, rather, it is a poem fearful of a particular sin that men can commit. I do not know why I was called to share these darker thoughts with you, only that I was led to do so. I have many similar thoughts, but again, have never acted on any of them. Love the sinner, despise the sin, and do not let the monster grow within. ***

 

 

The Temple

The Temple

As I

Awaken

As daylight peeks

Through

My curtains, I

Slowly open my

Eyes,

Gazing intently

At

My hands, the

Lineaments and

Ligaments, so carefully

Crafted, the

Bones, the tendons

Come alive and

Move

Without the

Slightest

Conscious

Command.

 

My lids close.

I wonder how it will

Feel

When this form no

Longer

Radiates heat, when

It is cold–

Colder than

Frostbite–

It will no longer

Contain

My essence,

It will no longer

Contain

Me.

I shall not hover,

Not float,

Among the still-living,

But soar

Through the open skies, until

My eyes again open,

And

See Paradise, on the

Other side.

With the One Who

Formed

This Vessel and I,

Awaiting my presence,

My Being,

ME…

On the other side.

 

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Image Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/90846117453405927/?lp=true

The Lemon Test

The Lemon Test

As I

Squeeze,

Juice comes

Flowing and

Pouring out

From the

Pulp;

In mass amounts,

Squirting and

Spraying

Me

With

Sticky,

Tart-tainted,

Seed

Ridden

Juices, which

All but

Stings my eyes,

And yet I put

My elbow

Grease

Into it:

For what?

Stinging eyes and

What kind of aftertaste?

A tart heart

And a sticky, oh so

Icky

GPA?

 

The juices drip,

The paper sips

My efforts from my

Rinds

My whole being,

My pulp-mind

Has been sucked dry.

 

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Image Credit:

https://food.ndtv.com/food-drinks/10-amazing-lemon-benefits-why-you-should-have-more-its-generous-squeeze-1407154