crushed, bro

Yeah it's old news. But now it's for REALS. And it hurts, for reals. Hey, I'll be okay. God's got a plan for me that's bigger than all of this. I think I know what I want, but it's not what I want. I want what God wants. And he's gonna give me that jam that's so sweet there'll be no(one)thing sweeter. Stoked about it hardcore, but kinda still bummin'.

You got this G-man, it's all you. Take it dude, I don't need it. But I still want to hang on to something that is too far gone and impossible to have.

I gotta put the past behind me man. I can't change it. There's nothing to do. I've made my decision, and it was the right one. I hate that I had to make it, but I had no choice. Is was that, or live in half-brokenness for the rest of my life.

How can I be beneficial to the Kingdom like that? I'm surrendering it. It's done. It's behind me.

I'm happy, and happy for everyone involved. I hope all goes well in all situations, I would never wish harm on any(one)thing. I'm stoked about it now. I'm happy for that situation. It's great :)

Hopefully we've all learned something from all of this. Hopefully we make changes to better ourselves. Hopefully we can live, love, and be in Joy for the rest of our lives.

I'm content. Patient. Waiting. Patiently? Maybe.

Not enough I'm sure. Circumstances will be engineered. Can I grasp what the future holds? Only when it's there in front of me. Until then it's futile. Be, live, love, grow (in Joy). That's where I have to be. That's where I'm gonna be.

That's where I am.

Right now.

It's my decision. That's what it's gonna be. Done.






I feel better.

round dos.

Here's a narrative one about my brother. He means a lot to me, so I thought I might write one about him. Here it is :)

(non) Sense

Sir Nicholas Beard

The jeep rolls into the driveway, a welcoming sound to my ears

(as my brother is now home: so close so near).

His footsteps are heavy on wooden stairs.

The door creeks and squeaks, the cold stands up my hairs.

I mock sleep, pretending to grow awake.

The springs of his mattress, they scream, they shake.

Welcoming… a warm feeling of safe.

I wonder what he ponders, as his weary eyes strafe.

We talk of nothing, but it is never nonsense. It is never this, but truly, it is.

Deep discussions avoid the room, as oil avoids water.

The drone of the fan is like that of the wheel, full of clay, of the potter.

But all this matters little, because we grow.

We grow through this, and oh, it shows.

We are building a foundation for a tower that will stand the test of time,

and we hold steadfast to these conversations, we will find them to keep us in line.

Who knows if he enjoys these moments (of insignificant importance) but I do.

And he must as well, this (at least) I hope is true.

poetry? what?!?!

I'm taking a poetry class this semester, so I thought I might post some of writings here just to have them in one more place than just my Poetry folder on my desktop. So, here's the first one we had to write for our class. It was a word list poem, so if it doesn't make sense, don't worry: it's not necessarily supposed to. It can though. I mean it does to me :)

Joy Horns

Sir Nicholas Beard

Softly braiding the scarf

the younger gypsy mirrors the action:

silk floating through the same.

Slicing the plum, swallowing through

throat holding stale, colorless

medallions… grinning. Hawks

push the winding river

onward as sun rolls back sky pillows

across the globe.

Lips blow:

over glass bottle-rim.

Merchants wash ancient cups outside

the theatre, filling pool over again.

Branches lifted over musty temple while

putrid egg’s lift into soft winds.

The worn, wretched clock

sings through cedars

while mannequins mold to respective

porches. Makeshift wooden crutches

roll onto the road

as children

push and comb through

tall, crunchy leaf-mounds, pulsing

with Joy that only

horns can shout.