Peace
Give to Live (Lent Post #1)
So I’ve made this commitment to write something every day of lent as part of my “Give Something, Don’t Sacrifice, for Lent” thought. Rather than sacrifice, say, ketchup for lent, I decided to share my […]
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Go There, Be Happy (Poem)
Who you turn to In your time of need, that’s the One. When lost in your sea of emotion When the mind takes over And proves to be an absent friend The arms that comfort […]
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Why Does It Feel Good to Enter a Woman? {Mature}
See, when see that picture of God as an old man with a rod in his hand, I often think that God isn’t the old man at all. God is the rod. The old man simply knows how to use it, and for that knowledge he gets painted all over the world and is worshiped as beyond measure. So, learn how to use the rod my friends and be worshiped. Not by the world, but by YOUR world. Her. The woman. The one who shows you who you are when no one else can.
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The Final Breath
He laid there, the immense pain in his chest beginning to numb under the realization that he was dying. Just moments before he was alive, enjoying the morning with his beloved, laughing about the memories they had created the night before. Now, he was sprawled out on the living room floor fighting for air, and wanting so desperately to talk.
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Old Harriet (Creative Writing Exercise)
To be honest, it wasn’t the rather unspectacular car or the completely unremarkable dent that had me transfixed. The concave crater formed by someone’s mistake was streaked with a cobalt-blue paint as if someone had applied it with their fingers. The paint was a unique kind of color, one that I didn’t see much of, but one that had brought fond memories into view. One that had me lost in a combination of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
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Our Love Heals
I am unsure and like a child again searching for her arms, her breast, her soothing voice. The tears I cry are hidden by the salty remains of the wave I let loose on the world, but they are there. Sometimes best cried in solitude, other times best hidden from even the parts of me that want to let them flow.
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The Unkempt Man
A man walked into church one day. He looked haggard, tired, unkempt and his clothes were unwashed and wrinkled as if he had slept in them for days. He could not help but notice the stares of the congregation as he moved to a pew near the back of the building.
