Broken Birdsong

It's easy to feel incredibly mundane. Do you ever have those days where it just feels like your life is just one painful black streak on the massive canvas of humanity? [I admit, my analogies are odd.] I can't sleep tonight. My head hurts, my tummy hurts, & the thought of my alarm clock hurts, but my eyes are wide & bright, as if my mental exhaustion from the day means Nothing to them. I move my laptop & myself to my bed, in futile hopes that I'll wake up to find I was lulled to sleep by words. Fun Fact: this has Never happened. Mundane restlessness. Mundane solutions. I remember when I used to be the girl that turned her bed into a canvas when she couldn't rest. I would artfully spread notebooks, sketchbooks, brushes, pencils, pens, tea mugs, & odd bits of information across my bed, taking a picture of the beautiful mess after diving in. I listened to a song tonight about a girl losing a version of herself. "She used to be mine....

{a first-person narrative from the perspective of the woman with the discharge of blood} They call me "the woman". They know my name. I held their babies. I rejoiced at their weddings. My wedding, even. My babies. They know my name. They know me. But now? They demean me by simply calling me "the woman." Disconnecting themselves from any former tie to me. Distancing themselves from my fate. As if it were my fault. As though I am no longer worth it. Twelve years. An eternity. And the blood still doesn't stop. I am forever unclean. Hopelessly marred. There is no hiding this. You can even smell me coming. I have no money for perfumes or oils, so the stench of my hemorrhaging clings to me. To say they avoid me like the plague is no overstatement. Twelve years . My babies have grown. I hear tell of grandbabies that will never be allowed to know me. I wonder, will they tell them I have died, to spare them the shame of knowing? I repulse them. Forced...

So for once, I was involuntarily quiet on here. It took an unbelievably long time to get wifi at our new house. And even longer for me to get a place to plug in my laptop. Old Bessie (the laptop) had trouble waking up after such a long sleep. I can relate. She's back to her quirky self, though. And I'm back to mine (did I ever stop?). I just got a glimpse of the kind of adult I'm most likely going to end up being: the kind that goes to bed after dinner and lovvvvves it. I kid you not, I was in bed before 7pm. And awake before 5am. I feel so rested & so ready. A perfect day to write, am I right? (half-hearted pun intended. I get worse, the more awake I am. My apologies to those who could hardly handle exhausted me.) So, yes. I've moved. To my Haven in the middle of a bustling city. My room is bright, & my corner windows are surrounded by very green leaves from the trees that feed my soul. I live close to people that are dear to me. Close enough for true spo...

(written August 19th, 2014) Speak to me I cannot breathe Without Your Truth Or Your mercy I am undone Unworthy Unspun I'm breathless Stammering In the face Of my King God, increase Make less of me Spend this frail life For Your glory It's worth it Worth all the pain Worth every tear And each heartbreak Grace mingled With faith and love Pours over me And into me By Your blood Your sacrifice You spent Your life To save my soul Mind is blown Heart rent in two My every breath Sheer gift from You Undeserved I pull away Cannot accept Yet You pursue Your kindness And Your great Love They bring me back And fill my cup No longer Am I empty My self traded For Your glory

I confess I still hold within me the spirit of a girl who had secretly not supposed she would live very long.  Nor supposed herself as one deserving of much happiness.  Ah, if you could see it ...  A healed body, with a soul that dares not rise from the sickbed, but for a brief stroll in the gardens.  I had known this would be the hardest part, but not how hard the hardest truly could be.  This love goes against my very nature.  I struggle to wake up.  I will spend days in full-on battle for the Kingdom, then find myself weeping in bed the following night.  How can this ever be changed?  It seems to be my endless battle, this fight for my state of mind.  I live half in unabashed hope, half in uncontrollable anxiety.  I am an unending series of inconsistencies. & I startle those who know depths of me to confusion.  Someone reading my journals might easily think me bipolar.  There are days where a switch just flips, ...

In an Instagram world You’re a Polaroid; A fresh classic at heart, Full of life and color Undeterred by the norm, You brim with good vibes; Spreading tailor-made rays Of sunlight through the trees Your laugh is outrageous - I strain just to hear The tear-bringing joy sound That bursts forth from your frame Yes, that is the image In you, Polaroid, That the focus is on, To best capture the light Mirth, it forms in your eyes, And now in my mind, As I take mental shots Of you rolling with glee Oh, my Polaroid friend, With your flashing smile, And those belly laugh jokes, You spread love instantly One snapshot of you, child, I share with the world That you expose to me In your own awesome way {this poem is also an entry to a contest. if you'd like to help me out, find me here & share from that page. you're a beautiful human being, & I'm grateful.}

[maybe the labels cued you in, or maybe you're an old hat at this, & remembered when I told you  of my intent to post these poems. These are pre-healing poems, typed by a post-healing poet, & the perspective is profound & overwhelming to me. This poem, specifically, was so vital at that time. It was a battle. I wept over it. I sketched it. I breathed these words for weeks, & now here they are, & the hope is so much more real to me.] (written August 14th, 2014) Can't get to sleep Cannot wake up Confused, I weep With empty cup Endless cycles Lost trains of thought Shame recitals Battles un-fought Strength all but gone Can't move my lips Hold sketch I've drawn In fingertips I know the words to pray Can't bring myself to say them How can I feel this way, Knowing all I'm saved from? Do You feel rejected As I do? Confused and dejected, I doubt Truth Why do these things feel real When they're false? Were I dead, co...