Under the bridge

Perpetually I seem to remember
the day that we went under the bridge.
It was a sunny Monday,
strategically we went,
leaping from rock to wet rock,

celebrating because
every moment together
was a recess from reality.

I wore the brown boots, 
the one from our first date.
In the middle of the river,
you gave me your hand
and pulled me close.

You held me, 
and I held you back.
We stood in the wind,
resisting the current,
beating time.
I was safe,
and I was free.

As we kissed,

I remember wishing 
that someone was taking our picture.
That maybe somehow,
someone could capture

the adventure you gave me,
the beauty you activated in me,
the way my soul lit up around you.
That maybe-

(you felt it too)
we were going down in history.

And we were.
We were.
And now
that I know it,
it is too late.

This-

This is how I will choose to remember you
You, perpetually tapping
You, in the rear view mirror
Your quiet energy, your sweet persistence,

How I was a diamond in your world of playground rocks.

I will remember you with your skinny waist,

I will remember your suede promises,

the lightning of our first embrace,
all the way to the edge of desire.

Your body in the back seat,

the way you taught me and

our perfected chemistry.
You, my best friend,
my only one.

I will remember you in grocery store parking lots,
on Denver sidewalks,
the volume of your snaps,
you on top of the Space Needle.
I will remember you in your element,
and when you met me in mine.
I will remember you on every long drive,
every mountain pass, through tears,
craving you to make my brain feel quiet
one more time.

Because you,
you remind me of home.
I know because I loved you first,
I could love you forever.

So I don't know how to stop.
I don't know how to stop being innately me.
I don't want to.
Please,
don't let me go,
don't let me go,
don't let me go.

Because I love you,
and I can't.

Still,
I search for you nightly,
And wait to stop shining
until I see you meet the coast,
or at least until
the sun comes up again.
When it's time,
I wait for you in between breaths.
I wait for you where the needle meets the vein.
I wait for you like you loved me,
across every galaxy.

I'll never ask for anyone but you.
I ask, and I ask again,
but it is
and I am
too late.

I cannot be close, it breaks me, and
I keep my distance.
Heartbreak was a foreign word,
till I was loved by you, and
I need you to come translate for me again.
I need your voice to 
unlock all the love that's trapped in me.

Only when I am far away,
From far away,
That is where I choose to remember you.
I will remember us under the bridge.
Before we lost our footing on wet rock,
Before we drowned.

Because if I put you there,
under that bridge,
then I cannot remember you
in all of the other places
where it still hurts.

To you who know

A letter,
 to you who know:

I know, 
you know,
and I know you know,
and you know I know you know.
At this point
it does not matter to me
how you know
or why,
so don't state it
because,
you don't need to.
Just walk with me
and understand
that my right now

is like this:
it is dabbed in fog,

composed of all the black

and white

heartbreak.
It is dark,
and I am tired.

But I'm trying,
please believe me.

I'm trying to reclaim my life,
fight for my identity,
capture the light,
and take back what was stolen.

But I'm fighting a battle
that in many ways,
I have already lost.
I often meet

crippling self-disappointment

that demands to be experienced,
without an invitation, 
in more ways than one
mind you-
echoing the memory
to replay and rewind.

Why is so much of healing

remembering?

I know it.
There is shame 
in the lack of movement,

the absence of screams,

the voided fight,
the prevented memory.

It's like,
an unbalanced magnet
pulling instability
across its charges,

poisoning autumns,

toxic to what was.
Inverse to irritable,
and retrograde to frustration.

What you can know is this:
I am fighting ghosts 

and slammed doors

and far worse-- 

the ones left open
on purpose.

Gently it calls 

every failure by name,
and gives it bones.
Through every unspoken thought,

past each wavering hesitance,

each immortal glance that
we tried to kill
and told ourselves was dead.
If I forget,
it's still there.
It's still alive.

I am desperate
for some mask

like consistency

or value

or community
or substance,

because sometimes

to be numb

somehow 
takes everything in you
when you've already been robbed dry

So stop,
now, please,
I beg.
Stop celebrating,
quit it with your playbook.
Be patient in my lament
for my disgrace.
Because my grief
is not
your trophy
or your soapbox
or your muse.

I AM SORRY
and don't say it isn't my fault,
because we both know
that's not the whole truth.

What is true, is that
I don't want the world

and all of its cruelty

to make me jaded

and hard,

but sometimes

I fear 
that it is already
too late.

The Storm Uphill

Always has been 
exhausting-

And maybe

shy of impossible-

To like yourself,

to fight for yourself,

over and over

and over

again.

To insist upon 

your beauty

your worth
your relevance.

To climb uphill 

every day

willingly

rejecting the screams from the mirror, 
the scale,
your own filthy
expectations...

Ripping up the old tapes,

burying the lies.

To tell yourself

the truth

and

to believe it.

To fight that hard- 

constantly-

to really, 

really

believe it.

And then-

nothing 

can shatter me

quite like you.

To have 2 hours of your life

On any wooden floor

strip you naked

dry,

and take back 

everything 

you've fought for.

To beckon the girl inside,

the one who wants 

nothing more than

to 

be

something,

But won't hurt anyone

in the process.
Who isn't

falsely composed

and high 
on shitty,

empty promises

Someone who wants it.

Not 

for the wrong reasons.

To be back at 0.

Because it's never enough

to just 

go against 

the competition.

No.

You compete against 

your defeaning

impossible

past.

Your toxic

scarred 

memories

And you forgot it, but
they always know how to win.

And,

you know

how empty it is

to 

hate 

you,

again.

Self hatred

is a storm

that hits

at the 

snap 

of

fingertips

And

I'm never 

quite

ready

for 

the rain.

Thoughts on the James Holmes Trial

I tend to have a hard time whenever highly controversial subjects come into the news- not necessarily due to the subjects themselves, but how they in turn trigger public responses. I believe that our responses to such events say far more about our society than any informative news report covering any groundbreaking event. Our behaviors and words following such announcements speak volumes to the capacity for morality of the human spirit.

While I am encouraged to see long overdue legal action providing some sense of closure following a horrendous tragedy, I am equally saddened by the subsequent outpouring of hatred on social media from the public. I think that often our sense of justice, one that I believe is informed and designed and instilled within us by a just God, is clouded by grief expressed through anger. That palpable grief-anger concoction yields a toxic hatred, one that we (falsely) believe is righteous.

To clarify- I will never suggest that this sort of anger is invalid. No, if anything, it is the most legitimate and justified, and I can never imagine the immense rage and disgust that is felt while watching these events unfold. I will never fully understand the heartache of those directly affected by these events. And I will never pretend like I do. Please. feel what you need to feel, and process what has happened to you in your own time and your own way. I will listen to you. I will respect your choice to remain silent or your choice to speak. I will never be a person that tells you to forgive and forget, or to let it go and move on. No. There are wrongs in this world that will never be righted this side of heaven. I grieve with you in the brokenness of the world, and my heart is deeply saddened by this tragedy and all of its consequences. I am angry for you and alongside you.

And yet, though our anger is legitimate and justified, hatred is not. Hatred is never right. Hatred is contradictory to humanity itself. No one hatred is more evil than another, because all hatred tears apart the seams of mankind. There is no such thing as righteous hatred. By hating the haters and the hated, by hating James Holmes, we surely become the monster we so desire to obliterate. And this sense of righteous hatred is incredibly isolating and ultimately self defeating.

As you "celebrate" this victory, please actively remember that grief is never done. Grief for the victims, grief for the survivors, grief for families and loved ones of those lost, grief for the atrocity, grief of memory, grief of consequences, and grief for James Holmes himself. As the verdict of the Aurora shootings is announced, please respond with grace and kindness. Do not let your passion for justice be fueled by the fire of hatred. Because James Holmes is a child of God, fearfully and wonderfully made in His image. The ground is equal at the foot of the cross, and that is no small pill to swallow. Let's continue to wrestle with God as we are confused by his abundant, all encompassing, perfect grace. I believe that He grieves with us, that He is angry alongside us, and that He hurts for us. I also believe that He is big enough to handle our righteous anger and big enough to handle our questions and big enough to love James Holmes. 

While there is comfort in knowing that legal action has been taken, peace cannot come from a court room. I know that no verdict will ever be sufficient to serve justice- not completely. I pray that in this time that we seek the peace of God- peace that surpasses understanding. Peace that surpasses our deepest sorrows. Peace that surpasses the cruelty of this world. Peace that surpasses legal jurisdiction. Peace that surpasses 3 long years of waiting. Peace that surpasses severe mental illness. Peace that surpasses our capacity for hatred.

radio silence

Relentlessly I am searching-

I must have missed the exit sign,

the last call.

Where were you?

I tried to yell, but-

They made us stand in lines.

And somehow,

I still gravitate toward you

You towards me- it’s not hard

We have existed in a rotation for too long

This curved path projected and doomed us-

elliptical

You are my peripheral, darling

In a force called gravity.

The only sight I have known.

Our trajectory named “allies”

You can turn around,

but you

Will move with me- still.

or maybe it’s against me.

Maybe it was always against me.

Either way

(And, neither way)

You’re lost

And you won’t pick up

I change the dial,

Kill the static.

Tune in and out and in,

Filtering out the sentiment and hindsight,

I am trying to find you,

and trying to let you find me.

But I cannot stay on this line

demanding a deafening reticence

Where the only muttering of you

is a broken promise

you call

radio silence