It only took me 22 to years to not fear.

If you were the person I need you to be, you would be here now. I would tell you how they burned down a mosque in Texas and that my heart is breaking and what I believe and those who stand for it are the same people who burnt down a place of worship.

See, if you were the person God wanted for me, I would tell you how I know I’m not meant to have children anytime soon because I refuse to raise babies in a time where this man is our president.

If you were the person that I dreamed you up to be, you would tell me everything that could calm me down and maybe you’d believe in prayer for a second and pray for this place with me, pray for our nation and this devastating power that has it seized.

Prayer for our leader to be surrounded by Godly men and women, pray for him to know Christ and how the God I worship is a God of peace. How my God does not shun those who leave but calls them back and welcomes them with open arms, freely.

This is not a love poem.

This is an outcry of me wanting to make a change in a world where injustice is happening right inside our doors and I have no power to do anything.

If you were the man I fell in love with three years ago…That’s not even correct. More and more as I draw closer to God, as I rever being alone, I realize who I fell in love with was only a dream. I felt heartbreak at the thought of being lonely & you left me and there was nobody.

And yes I wrote it out. And yes there was so much on the point of obsession and yes, I don’t 100% regret it, because it was coping, because it made me who I am, even if I still fall for the same kind of man.

But you see, I am alone right now. I am breaking at the thought of our country’s future and yet I am dreaming and chasing goals that I can reach without the distraction of you and know that He will take care of me.

As tragedy strikes and you’re not here to calm the nerves, I know, more than ever, I’m where God wants me and needs me to be.

Take My Hand

Run with me,
not away from the pain,
not to some promised bliss,
but into the belly of this beast,
this present churning thing,
this changing of me
from self hating
and you, the aching,
into something that slightly resembles glory.

When the monster roars,
I will not give up on you.
Even if it swallows us alive,
I would rather go down, feet flying
then to be devoured standing still.

Run with me
even if we don’t end up
as glowing beings.
Run with me even if we have the skid marks
of shooting stars across our backs
and barely grazed the moon.

Run with me,
because though the future isn’t certain,
this will one day be memory.
Run with me,
because we both know it takes
being beaten in order to feel again.

Quiet Joy

You:
synonym for elation.
Cloud nine’s embrace.

With you,
I got myself so rattled
I couldn’t sleep,
and when I saw you
it was better than any
dream.

The hype,
is that I make you out
to be something
better than what you were.
I forget the ghosting
and the crap poetry
and I wonder what
you see when you
look at me.

Was I supposed to be a casual fling?

Was I supposed to want you back
without considering
the personal growth
and contrast three years can bring?

And I’m not saying
we’re meant to be.
Though there was a time
when I thought that.

I’m saying
every moment spent with you,
every text,
FaceTime,
adventure
left me on a personal high
and over the moon
happy.

I’m trying not to make you the standard.
I’m trying to accept that I can be full of
joy
without seeing you,
messaging you,
knowing you any better than before.

I’m trying to get rid of your memory.
Because when I remember
the heart speeding ecstasy of spending
a day with you,
I don’t realize the moments when I’m alone,
writing,
when you’re turned into yet another poem,
I look at what my life is
and I am happy.

Even without you knowing it.

Singing and Sheeran

Is it weird that
I can’t wait to drive up
to my last semester of
college just to listen to
“Castle on a Hill” on repeat?
To dance in my seat, to belt out songs,
because I may not be the best
but I really like singing.

I used to be scared
my voice wouldn’t compare to his.
Nothing spectacular, just on key
and sounding good. Pleasing.
I don’t know even if he was aware
of doing it,
but I can still see it,
see myself telling him
“You can sing.”
Like it’s magic,
like there’s mystery behind
keeping in tune

And tomorrow, I’ll be by the side
of one of my best friends
who sent me his own songs
and who can sing and play guitar
and

“I’m on way
driving at 90
down those country lanes—”

And I think of your profile in
darkness illuminated by red lights,
of his as he swayed to “Riptide” and
my smile tore my face in half

“And I miss the way
you make me feel

and it’s real.”

So real.

“We watched the sunset
over the castle on the hill.”

Lull

I wonder if I’ll tell my kids
about the lull in life,
that midway point in your twenties
where everyone around you is
falling in and out of love simultaneously
while you’re left there standing,
watching.

I’m not saying
it’s always romance:
the way you watch a girl curl inside herself
on a stairwell,
a human ball of yarn not ready to unfurl.
It’s the way you sit in a car with your friends not really listening, but watching the brake lights fade from the car parked in front of you,
vapid,
end goal.

I wonder if my kids will know
about the nights you will go to bed
not feeling unfulfilled,
but wondering if you’re missing something.

I hope at 22 they won’t begrudge
going to bed at 9:41 like me;
I hope at 22 they’ll understand
their surroundings,
not be stuck writing poetry to make
sense of their reality,
to unpack their weeks of
lonely

I hope this “lull” phase
is something that only affects
me.

GSA:

God had a reason for you coming back into my life: some kind of life lesson. Even if it wasn’t what I hoped for.

 Even if we are left farther from each other than we were before.

Maybe this time is to let the illusion of you go. Maybe this time is knowing you don’t want me when you could easily have me and realizing

I deserve so much more.

Paraphrasing Eleanor Roosevelt

There is something beautiful,
something breaking open
at the thought of
my ability to believe
in you
with no questions asked.

There was something so soft
in the way I knew you’d achieve
all your dreams, one day;
even if I wasn’t there to see them.

I pass by tshirts
and posters and trinkets
and everything reminds me
of moments never shared,

and it all is still so
beautiful,
that I am still so soft,
even with my stitching;

your dreams are still attainable,
still reachable,
please believe me.