I have no words to describe the way I feel.
It’s empty. It’s disappointed. It’s fragile. It’s chaos….
We put ourselves into situations, one after the other, to remember why we never venture outside.
Locked behind glass, watching from the inside as the rest of the world moves on without you–
they survive without us.
I have so much love. I have so much to give. I have so much to share with the world…
and yet the world is fine without me.
I am someone.
I work hard every day, striving to leave a footprint behind me of morale and ethics.
I have a name, I’m not just a number.
I work hard, trying to carry myself with excellence, and yet I don’t think you see me.
Diminishing my light and silently fading to the backdrop is not my style, others should know they are valued.
And yet value is not your ethic, instead you push for productivity. Those around more have better chances of moving ahead— and I stay at the backdrop.
I put my name out there, watching others have better chances, I don’t understand why I am forgotten in the faces of the crowd.
It is a crowd. One I am silently working my way through, and have resigned to watch forget me.
I’m still here, among the forgotten, and I still have a name.
I wish you would use it at least once.
The sound of a fall is heard through the entire room
It’s so empty, even whispers echo
I look about, tears brimming my eyes
This place was Home
It was my home
Fantasizing the memories I longed to have, I watch growing children chase past me
I can hear her on the phone with friends, getting ready in front of a fancy mirror. Her hair is long, she’s 13. She giggles and rolls her eyes, parting her lips to put on makeup.
He’s 15, with headphones and his door closed, I wonder what music he listens to as he lays on his bed looking at a magazine.
She’s 9, she plays with a golden dog in the backyard, before running to ask for lemonade.
Suddenly it changes, the 9 year old is dressed for prom, and walks down the stairs in her gorgeous dress.
And then again, the 13 year old has a band of giggling bridesmaids gathered around her in her old bedroom. She is dressed in white, glowing and ready for her big day to start a new life.
This was my house of dreams. Imagining fantasies that will never be memories.
It was ours. Perfect, charming…
And none of them will ever be.
I cry alone in my old house of dreams.
I remember crying as you watched
My heart aching
Breaking down and not understanding why
I trusted you
I trusted you with my soul
You broke it
It’s never been the same since you
Rejection
A nine letter word, so tiny in the vernacular
And yet it shreds us to pieces
Our first rejection shadows us
Creating the lense we see ourselves through
One rejection after the next
We conclude it is us that is the problem
We cause others to deny our worth
We cry out for validation!
Validate me! Validate me!
Again and again to face rejection
The monsters enslaving us
Causing us to sin–
They rejected us first
And we reject ourselves ever since
We are not good enough
We are not intelligent
We are not beautiful
I am not beautiful
I am the itching scabs of leprosy
Oozing from the wounds that never heal
Loving the loudest
Loving the longest
Loving so no one knows this pain
Pushing away and building the walls to keep you from seeing the wounded animal I am inside
I’m terrified if you knew my pain you’d see that I’m a fraud
I am the perception Rejection has spoken over me
You create
You sing
You play
For I am unworthy to speak the voices and sing the notes of my Fantasies inside
Rejection visited me, too, and I had nowhere to hide
There was a Lover who created a garden.
Perfection displayed in brilliance.
To the trees He said, “Bear fruit of many kinds, for my Bride is coming, and she will need nourished.”
To the ground He said, “Bring forth vegetables to sustain her, and satisfy her hunger.”
To each plant He said, “Bring forth vitality, to protect and heal her sickness and ailment. She will find healing in you when complication may arise, and where I destine that you cannot heal her, I will renew her body.”
Then, He created and brought forth animals to be companion and friend, for cheer and play.
He looked in awe of the splendor of His hands and said, “All is ready, and it is good.”
Finally, crafting with His own hands, He formed the Glory of His Creation, His Bride, to live in the Garden He had prepared.
Together they communed in peace and happiness. The Lover had never been so full of joy….
But soon, the Bride was deceived by a great Enemy and cast out.
The Lover, broken and filled with sorrow watched as His Beloved drifted farther and farther from Him.
To the trees her offspring said, “Your fruit is too sweet and not good for our bodies, we will not consume it.” And they limited their children from it as well.
To the vegetables they said, “You are too high in starches, and the rest of you are meager. We do not wish to consume you, either.”
Turning to the beasts given by the Lover to be companions, they ate of their flesh and drank of their milk, abusing them to satisfy their thirsts and hunger.
When they became sick, and forced sickness on each other, they trampled down the plants the Lover had crafted, and said, “We will grind the rocks instead.” Pulling from mines and refining chemicals, using the waste from different sources-even from the dead, saying “surely these will heal us!” These did not heal their sickness, and made them worse. They dug for more stones and strained through more waste, and more of the dead, to find their cures.
The Lover watched as His Bride trampled down the beauty He had given them, overcome with sorrow and anger. He sent floods to wash out their crops, frost to ruin their trees, fires to burn their vineyards, storms to display His glory – but His Bride made excuses, “It is us, we have done this, our hands are causing this to happen.” Some yet said they themselves had managed to create these disasters to destroy each other.
So few turned to Him, delighting in His gifts.
To those who did He blessed them with health and peace, for they looked to Him and said, “Your Creation is enough for Me, and I will Delight in you, all of my days. I will eat and make use of your Garden. For you created the world in Perfection and I praise you for providing for My needs, and designing them by hand to prepare a place for Us, before you even made us.”
Tear my heart out, rip my soul in two.
Then rebuild me to the image that best suits you.
I’ll hide away all the parts of me that hurt,
I’ll wrestle my soul down to convert.
I’ll pretend to be who I’m not until night has drawn.
Cry alone until another empty day will dawn.
Take away the illusions of love inside my head.
Remind me dreams of romance and hope are dead.
I’ve got nothing left to offer that hasn’t been torn apart,
What am I supposed to do with the rest of my broken heart?
Surely your piercing blue eyes desire the image pop from the dreary page, as the ivory cannot display so clearly an image as the words printed carefully on it!
Embrace the hues of brown and green, which is the forest background. Autumn has come, setting the forest aflame with color!
The canopies are tinging in yellows, oranges and red, before dropping lightly.
Vibrantly, softly, gently they fall and utter not a sound Leaving the trunk breathless and bare, shuddering naked.
Frigidly it is laid waste, with no comfort to protect from Winter’s flare.
Suddenly, longingly the trees wishing they had their delicate blanket to protect from the winds.
One last, lonely leaf flutters by dead…..
Oh well, he shall make new ones next year.
Cheyenne sang loudly with the small group sitting around the room, as the melodious reverberating sound of an acoustic guitar filled the space around them.
It brought warmth and a deep-seeded joy to hear the sound of Austin’s voice singing as he played. His eyes closed, his head fell back occassionally as he bobbed his head and body in rhythm to the music.
Cheyenne felt the presence of the Spirit stirring in the room as they worshipped in song together.
Tonight was simply a night of reflection and worship, to the glorious sound of an acoustic guitar, with their closest of friends. The fellowship that drew their hearts together like nothing could ever break them apart, was overwhelming in the deepest of ways.
Austin began to slow the tempo and his strum became gentle as the song came to an end, right before the next started.
Nothing in the world brought more delight to Cheyenne than hearing an acoustic guitar fill the expanse of a small room. It was certainly her most favorite sound in all of the world. Nothing could compare to it. Each chord humming in enchanting rhythm with the next, sustained evenly as a sound that pleased the ears, with gentle vibrations she could feel in her chest.
Closing her eyes, taking in the moment, Cheyenne was at peace, and all was right with the world, in a supernatural way that only the presence of God could provide.
In this moment she thanked Him for the guitar, and for music. For the mystical way an acoustic guitar could romance the soul, and for the talent God had given to Austin to master the technique.
And then she praised God from the depths of her soul, taking nothing in the moment for granted, knowing that this time she spent with her dearest of friends and the mingling of the Holy Spirit was special. She hoped the others felt as connected in Spirit as she did.
They spent time together long into the early hours of the night enjoying each others company, singing together, praying for one another, and abiding in love and joy, comforted to know the things that mattered most to their broken hearts were easy to share with one another, in a way that brought healing and hope.
And when they had said goodnight, Cheyenne curled up in bed content, reflecting on the time they had spent together, still filled with peace and joy. Still remembering the enchanting lull of the guitar as Austin played for them.
And it was the sound of the acoustic guitar seered into her memory as she fell asleep.
What do you do when you figure out you missed it?
How do you pick up the pieces when you realize it’s never going to be the same it could have been?
Trust is meaningless. Hope is frail. Illusions of a dream never meant to come true.
Prince Charming is a joke. Love is elusive, meant for tales we weave beyond our woes.
Dreamers exist to brighten the world with fallacies. We lose ourselves in the romance of fantasy.
Dreams and wishes our hearts make put us fast to sleep, slumbering in clouds to escape reality.
Reading ourselves stories to brighten the night, where every happy ending is true. For who reads to remind themself life is frail?
And now broken love remains. A light to shine out to the others, perhaps someone might be cheered from this endless gloom.
Take heart, hope at least burns for someone. It doesn’t mean reality gets better. But at least you know someone cares. I can care enough for you when you lose sight of yourself.
**This was written over a year ago, and accepted to be published. It never published, and there is no sign that it will ever be published. So I finally decided it was time to put it on my blog.The theme was “Write a piece inspired by a song”.
The song I wrote this to was “Alive” by Jose Gonzalez.
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Tick. Thump. Tick. Thump. Tick. Thump. Tick.
The sound of your heart echoes the rhythm of the clock.
Comforted by the rise and fall of your chest in steady breaths, I know I’m safe.
You work so hard, with very little return. It’s apparent in the way you sigh tonight.
You hesitate. You forget to breathe.
Gently squeezing your hand, I nestle closer. Beside of you, I know it’s going to be okay.
Do you know how much I love you?
Does my love help?
Does it ease your weary mind?
It isn’t fair the way life jades us. Breaking our spirit so we give up chasing fantasies and childhood dreams.
What once brought joy, brings tears.
What once caused your heart to flutter, now leaves your heart broken.
Darkness settled, and it swept away your smile. It took your soul with it, leaving your voice hollow.
I remember what your laugh used to sound like.
I remember the glint of passion in your eyes.
I miss the warmth of your smile.
My fingers brush gently through your hair as your eyes move under tired lids.
It comforts me to know you’re dreaming. Whatever are you dreaming of?
Am I still in your dreams?
Rushing from one thing to the next leaves you tired and aching, longing just to sit and clear your head.
The stress of the day stops melting away, instead it festers and gnaws at you, dragging you down a lonesome, tired road of anguish.
It shouldn’t be this way. Seeing it manifest causes my heart to break.
What can I do? What does your heart need that I can give?
Can I alleviate the burden long enough to give you rest?
Do you remember how to rest? To give in to the refreshing tides of sleep.
When it seems the money is always needed, or the stack of bills won’t shrink any smaller, and nothing is going your way, reach out and take my hand. It’s not moving from where I left it.
It was promised to you. And you keep it.
I’ll be here when you come home. Rubbing knots from your neck and shoulders, soothing the tenderness with a gentle kiss.
My arms might be frail, but they’re strong enough to hold you when you can’t hold yourself.
Let me carry your burdens. Give me your broken dreams, let me help grow something new. When you lose sight of tomorrow, let me hope for you.
I need you. I need your warmth. I need your life. I need your smile.
Night only lasts for a moment, and then the sun peaks the horizon again. Gradually, as though giving hope to the world, with a dimly lit break of dawn.
It just takes time. To everything, there is a season. This too shall pass.
Remember this when it seems to never end.
When the world caves in and all you hear is seconds ticking away, remember my hope is drawn from the rhythm of your beating heart.
onlybyyourblood 