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"Today I have seen of war all I want to see. A row of men with blindfolded eyes and surrendered hands squat, backs hunched, before a stone wall. A young boy stays home for five days, alone, with the corpses of his family. A man gestures, with loathing, about how a soldier had defecated on his bed. An old woman flails her arms in despair, begging the distant heavens. To feel the humiliation, to touch the grief of each I would have to become a monster with many hearts."

Jesus doesn’t judge those who are sick, but the

Jesus in my underwear drawer only feels fury over my sins. I like to think the real

Jesus would save me, had I met or if I someday meet him, but for now the only

Jesus I know is the one in the back of my dresser

King of the jews,

Son of God.

Most unmentionable among my unmentionables.

Man in my heart,

Tell me theres no light to follow,

Tell me all I need to do is love.

Man in my heart,

Tell me I can love him.

Tell me I can be a him.

went to church blind today. i couldn't see the hymnal to sing along but i usually got the melody down by the second or third verse, so i would hum with the congregation. i have a lower voice so it made my teeth vibrate and my whole skull ring with music. my cathedral has a pipe organ that has some notes that shake the whole building. the church resonates with holy song; i resonate with holy song. this is my poetry; these are my psalms. can the music of God be touchable? can my mouth, like the sanctuary, be holden to the voice of God?

i would like to take my shoes off in holy places. i long to feel God with my feet; i would like the music to grow from beneath my souls and up through me. i would like to be intimate with the Divine; i would like to call the cathedral my home and sit in it like i do my mother's house while she plays the piano in the other room. i can almost hear her singing with the choir and i cannot see so i can pretend it is her. is my Heavenly Mother singing to me just the same? can hymns be like lullabies to the soul on some comfy sacred couch on which i eat chicken and dumplings that the mother mary has prepared? does the virgin mother have the same hands as my momma? does Jesus sing like the masses? is He sat in the pew behind me?

those who cannot see, see by touching; does God perch upon the shoulders of the sightless man to sing in his ear? are these hands holding my face the literal hands of Jesus? when God says the blind will see, does He mean that we may reach our finger tips toward Him and feel the curve of His nose and the soft break of His lips?

God, I’m overwhelmed.

Too much, too much, too much

—All at once.

I am but a small clay cup.

I cannot hold

All this life expects of me.

I am not a pot or bowl

Or bucket or trough—

Just a little cup

(I can only take so much).

Please, God,

Show me how

To manage all this

To do what I must

Without falling or spilling

Or breaking.

i want to break an arm, or be stabbed in a parking lot

i want something, anything,

to justify how awful i feel,

There hasn't been a day that I did not want you.

Not in the sexual kind of way.

I just want you.

I want to spend the entirety of my life with you. Through the annoying red light stops and shopping on thrift shops, I want difficulties, errors, mistakes, earthquakes, and breakdowns—all spent with you.

I don't want crystalled chandeliers over my head if it's not with you. I would rather find myself caught up with the piles of unwashed clothing and unpaid taxes with you.

To word it simply..

I want a life with you.

I want a life with you. Let it be through luxury or through simplicity. Through the silk dresses and tuxedos to mismatched socks and holiday pajamas.