Syncing

I touched your chest
And noticed we weren't in sync
So while you slept
I took the butter knife

I Cry

I cry for what this world has become
Where we hurt to get respect
Where we leave to feel wanted
Where we cry to be heard

I cry for all that we do
How we destroy so we can build
How we exploit to be fair
How we cry to be understood

I cry for the past we have lost
For the now that suffers
For the future we are unprepared for
For the fact that I HAVE to cry

To be heard,
To be wanted,
To be understood,
To be LOVED.

And I still cry,
And I will keep on crying
And I will never stop
Until I don't have to

Haiku for the Tone-deaf

We never sang well
You were flat and I was sharp
But we had music

Leaf and Breath

This pretty little land of candy
Lighting up what's fine and dandy
Lions jump and sing a song
Sheets of paper make it strong

Holding back and letting go
Strapping up, we never know
Mits of cloth just cover shoes
Tersely, stern, old, fat recluse

Full of love and what could be
Leave all those what could've been
Chant a song and say a verse
Sustain your awful-minded purse

Suits the hate yet more on joy
Use your vigor, you little boy
Zone out grief and enter light
Urban dreams and rural heights

Top it off with tearful songs
Sheets of paper made me strong
Urging me to just go on
Living life yet leaving wrong

Holen

I honestly think
of all the things I become
When I'm with you
I become a marble

You know, the blue kind
With swirly things in it
Because when you look through it
You say you see the ocean

But you know it's just a marble

Goodbye February

You, my butterfly
I caught for myself to love
Lie dead in a jar

Overcoming Fear

I like being scared.
It brings me back to my humanity.
It causes me to tremble and pray.
It humbles me and refreshes me of my vulnerability.

I like being scared.
Because I remember Jesus when I'm scared.
I remember why He died
And I remember that He rose again.

I like being scared.
Because by being scared, I remember why I shouldn't be.

Salute to the Brown Man

-found this somewhere in my computer. I'm not sure who wrote it. I hope it was me. If it wasn't, I'd wish it were.
*UPDATE* My friend said I wrote it. (Sorry, I have REALLY bad memory). So YEY! :) 

He was not so tall. And he was brown. And he lived on the mountainside about 2000 years ago.

He needed to eat. And so barehanded, with no complicated tools, he built some terraces. He irrigated them, and they stood the test of time.

He built a steadfast government of 7107 islands, he made a language unique than anything else in the world. He built monuments, painted murals, wrote epics and sang anthems.

The mind of the brown man is golden, and his skin is a testament to his perseverance.

And so today we honor the skilled inventive race of the brown man.

Today we honor the skillfulness of the small but ingenious band of pygmies and the morenos.

Today we give accolades to the Imagineering, the ingenuity and the creativeness of the brown man.

August 4, 2012

I hate it when we fight
It's painful and it hurts
Well, for me
Because I'm the emotional one

It starts with a quip
And ends with a whip
Of hurtful words
And jabs of mean
and evil
And it's painful
Well, for me
Because I'm sensitive

And what's worse is that
Everyone else chooses sides
And they always choose yours
Always yours
Never mine
They comfort you
Understand your points
Agree with you
And try to make you feel better

But not me
They never pick me
They never try to make me feel better
They never tell me "it's gonna be okay".
And "I feel for you"

And I know why
I know why they always choose you
I hate to admit it
And I know you know it too
That's why you have so much fun
Making me cry
Showing me
Telling me
Proving to me
That they like you more
That they choose you more
And just love you more
Because I'M the ugly one.

And you know I'd need you
More than you'll need me
Because you'll always be okay
And that's why you hurt me
And make me cry

They would always, always pick you
And tell you you're doing great
And there's nothing they could hate.
And that you're only human.
You make mistakes.

And I can't.
And I'll never be good enough.
And that I try too hard
And that no one really cares
And that I have no right to be emotional
Or sensitive
Or hurt
Because I'M the ugly one.

A Tale of Two Trees

Two trees deep in the dark forest
Struck by strong winds
One, a strong mahogany
The other, polished bamboo

The strong tree hits the wind fighting
The other bends slowly, succumbing
Branches trailing down the other's trunk,
Down toward the roots

The bamboo stops suddenly.
Hushed whimpers are heard
His strong, hard wood---the mahogany's---
Leaves the bamboo bent, attached midway

And he stays there
For a long while. Swaying.
The whimpers grow louder
The wind, stronger

A crack is heard
The strong tree is breaking
Yet the bamboo remains swaying
to and fro, to and fro, to and fro

Another crack.
The strong quivers
His branches shake.
He's coming to his end.

And he does.
He comes.
To his end. Hard.
With a bitten-down groan.

He falls back, breathless,
Drained of his life-sap.
The bamboo is now stands.
Victorious. Empowered.