I am setting myself free on this site

Every time I publish something here, I give the world an invitation to find me. The real me, not the polished portrayal of my resume, but the disgusting, contrite proportions. I like to leave trails of myself like dirty toilet tissue paper trailing on the bottom of a shoe. I like it like that.

In these realms I have an open invitation to be grotesquely honest. No one wants to admit they are afraid of rejection from Heaven, of their size ten feet suddenly growing any larger or those weird spots that keep showing up on their skins to shout SURPRISE! at your surprise birthday party.

Honesty is an odd commodity. Secrets are uncomfortable but vulnerability sets me free. There is much more voyage in publicity than exclusivity. Regrets burn a hole in the soul, burying the self in invisibility failing to diminish all the while growing more apparent, more ridiculous, absolutely tormenting.

So this here is my secret garden. The sacred place where past meets current, meets the future investigators of my identity. They will come for me, the onlookers, the supporters, the false witnesses, the truly loyal. And I will be right here on this website, decades early to my own premiere.

When I am done I shall have no secrets. All my confessions, public, reflective to the submission of the most high God. When I am done I will walk the streets of New York City naked, moaning in grief for a world scheduled to expire. When I am done they will bare my bones, finding nothing further to discover, no secret vanities, no espionage, no forged signature, no deceit. They will become mad with my purity, they will seek to unsuccessfully defile whom is already washed white as snow.

And I will smile warmly at their persistent efforts even in my old age, I will recycle the sins of my early youth with nothing more to whet an appetite that excuses mankind from evil. I will set a new standard in preparation for new land. There is much joy and much peace to righteousness. To international conflict resolution, to building strong families and a strong workforce. I still believe in all of us. I can sense our faith growing everyday. It is this truth that soothes the recurring depression and the doubt in mankind that agitates it’s onset.

Let us be wise unto both youth and old age. I refuse to wait to be full. Let us be drunk and merry with the Holy Spirit, becoming impatient with God thus mimicking the lifestyle of the Heaven that awaits us all.

I love you all.


Getting there slowly

I’m on a bus to nowhere. I mean I’m going to D.C., that’s where they call the place my body will be, but verily I’m on a bus to nowhere.

You cannot be somebody only inside your mind! You must collectively exert the force of concentrated energies, but I just couldn’t get there. I was holding to every dream, preferring an illusionary back up plan, to a back up plan, to a back up plan and even that was not totally true. The truth is I bore and depress easily. Happiness and discipline are sacrificial decisions. Successful people forsake temporal hunger for a lifetime of meats, second by second, again and again and again and again and again.

Alternatively, unsuccessful people are more so greedy than they are untalented or lazy. Everyone is a gift from God, packaged perspectively as the ultimate expression of his greatness. Unsuccessful people are talented people who have never fasted, have never once abstained from pleasure in pursuit of sustainability. Yet my heart cries for these souls. I am shocked and appalled by someone’s inherent inability to see God in the mirror. Who thus are you to be weak and feeble minded fools?

At times this includes me, for even I am getting there slowly.

Too scared not to love

I used to be petrified of these things, the internet, blogs. I was so frightened that I was unable to move and thus ossified into a stony substance. I was afraid of the internet because I recognized its immutable power. The internet was the record keeper, character checker, ideology tracker, illegal wrongs and moral rights bearer, publisher of secrets and inheritor of modern day truths. The internet was powerful. I was personally afraid because I was certain that whatever I contributed to it would one day become nationally archived. I knew where I was going and I dreaded the day I got there for I knew librarians and information scientists would compile and make deductions about the quality of where I had been. I feared the day of my earthly judgment up until the moment I realize no man has the capacity to judge. When I accepted I was human I became more free to be human, to make mistakes, to avoid the need for repentance but acknowledge I would always need to repent. I became more graceful in my erring.

I used to be petrified of these things, the internet, blogs. I was so frightened that I was unable to move and thus ossified into a stony substance. I knew that because of its eternal archive, I could not lie. I fear no one thus the motive to lie does not present itself and I do not lie. Yet I am afraid to be portrayed by future critics as a liar because I decided to grow. I am a young woman, 24. I am afraid of this age because I am not sure I am as completely mature that a 24 year old is possible of being. I am thus afraid that I ripen in wisdom, forsaking idiosyncrasies of today and be expelled tomorrow when those traits of the past do not match the traits of the future will men thus define me as a “traitor?” I worry about the simplest things because I am to be a simple leader with simple truths. I worry about what my people think because I fear my people misled from me will be devoured by wolves.

I used to be petrified of these things, the internet, blogs. I was so frightened that I was unable to move and thus ossified into a stony substance. I was so frightened I could not move, I could not develop, I stunted my growth. I was so afraid of expressing incorrectly or inadequately that I stopped expressing myself altogether, I was mute. In a realm where the internet gave breath to the oppressed, I suffocated myself. I ossified into a stony substance, I hid political speeches in a personal journals, I declared my love to inanimate pages. I buried my frustrations there, I have even applied to some jobs there. But today I speak.

One day men will find the youth version of me. My audacity, my wild original desire to expose the soul in exchange to lead the people. No one can trust who they do not know. One day the critics will make this blog public and permissible to undecided voters. I hope everyone will find a little piece of themselves here, in me. Lost, confused, desperate for the self-love that transpires to communal love. As a human race if we have shrunk to war and rage, may the world find some hope here. May we all learn to start fresh as I did, becoming undone in archaic and useless professions that don’t produce food and clean water. May we find ourselves. May we always love again.  

Measure me in Moments

How does one quantify greatness? In wealth, in power, in excellence? What then is excellence?

My greatest excellence is my spirit. It is in my good thoughts that prevail good actions.

Measure me in moments, in smiles, in manners.

From and Far to Go

One woman is in love with one man. She cherishes him beyond degree because she believes he can save her. She knows Jesus is her Savior but she believes that he can save her. He gives her hope and when he is done he challenges her through the administration of his hopes. She believes she can save him as she strives to compliment his excellence. She sees him as a King and thus sees herself as a Queen. As long as he exists she exists. Her head hurts and he soothes her. She imagines him, she sits on the couch in front of him, she sits pretzel style, repositions her left leg letting it dangle carelessly. Her arms rests gently in her lap, her head drooped lovely to the side, she smiles, very happy, very admirably. She loves him. And in return he honors her. He stares at her, delighted by the passion he causes to arise in her. He is moved so sensationally he spends his life hiding it from her. She pretends she does not know but she knows. She sees him. She frequently catches him awed by her. He stares at her sleeping when he is bored with her inactive beauty he wakes her with the right kisses. She rolls over in glee, making him laugh, she makes him so, so happy.

In the morning she arises every morning to nourish him, she wakes an hour before him to prepare breakfast, when she is mad she leaves him wheat toast with strawberry jam. Nevertheless, she always leaves him something. She is always encouraging him to eat healthy, she prepares his lunch and he always resists his vegetables, and is their thing, they are in love. He works very hard, It is hard to pull him from his work. when they were newlyweds he came home promptly, on time, all the time, every night. She cooks for him every night. If he is not home, half past eight, she brings his plate to his office. His work is his extramarital affair, he apologizes often, but he is always sincere.

He is sweet to her. He never forgets her Birthday or Valentines Day. She is sweet to him, when he stood her up for their Anniversary dinner, they spent the night on his office floor.

He never takes her for granted because he never knows why she loves him. I mean she loves him. Her face lights up each time she sees him. He makes her so happy and he never knows what he did. He drove himself crazy trying to figure himself out. She danced for him and cleaned for him and baked cakes and cookies for him. She loved him and he never quite figured it out, but he loved her nonetheless.


Not Yet Weird Enough

I must be doing something wrong because I am not yet weird enough. I am stylistically sound and I am a gorgeous giant. I must be doing something right because I am not yet odd enough.

I only make my bed when my floor is clean and I only clean my floor when my bed is made. There is inexpressible range of clutter that denotes that my room has breached into the dirty range whereas an assortment of perfectly placed papers can categorize those messes as masterpieces. So I must be doing something wrong because I am not yet right enough. p>


I Don’t Care if Anyone Reads This

I would prefer to be alone. 

Existing among millions of other internet users. In secret. 

If I have these thoughts and have confessed these thoughts, then I have fulfilled my purpose without pressure. 

My God has brought sunshine to gray darkened weather. 

God has made these easy for me, took the smell of vomit and febreezed it for me. 

I am happy for this sacred, public place. 

They will seek to judge me but I have hereby made my case. 

It is already done, may the Saints presume their Holy place.

God You Frustrate Me

Absolutely Frustrate Me. 

Both sides of my frontal lobe veins ache in pain, 

Desire to grant you so much praise it drive me insane, 

My eyes squint in pain, my brain hurts.

Breathed me into existence with a handful of dirt.

I am obssessed with you,

This migraine professes, these confessions to you.

I inevitable honor you in all that I do.

I look forward to men sneezing just to say to them, “God Bless You,” I love you from these crippled bones

I offer a burnt sacrifice all that I own,

I would whip myself if it would set me free,

To love you without sin, perfectly and intimately.

I praise you for the sorrow, for the atrocity for the strife.

You are the flesh that suffers, the doctor and the knife.

I praise you all my days, from my birth until my death.

I praise you till’ I disappear, till’ there is nothing left.  

Impeccable Love

Awesome, awestruck respectable love. 

Who am I not to be bold brilliant fumbling, who are you not be cold, distilled, humming? When I gaze at you with such thick speech and you rephrase at me, eyes that weep… Who am I not to be giving, living, loving?

I summon you, oak mahogany grace. You something me, matching time, latching place. I graze your face where words don’t rhyme, with unrequited hope that you won’t mind. I pay, the consequences, in cold hard cash, to much pride, to ask, too refined, to dine and dash. I wait for you, New York City Bus, drowned deep in reminisce of what meant to be us. 

Pus, sprout, pimple, pop! 
Blush, pout, dimple, stop. 

I stare, at you, sleeping, hours on end. 
I glare at you weeping, lover and or NOR best friend? 

Daring — for you to let me in. 

How many knock knock jokes to open the vault to your heart? How many click clock ballads to dance the forsaken time apart? 
I sit, I gist, I frown, I’m pissed. Longing, for the song-in, that verse that crowns our kiss. 

Time passes
I wait. 

I counteract love crimes in court 
rent abate. 

To each his, her own, every touch their season. 

Has my spring surpassed, winter heart, a-freezing? 

Lord deliver me from this smocked a mess,,, 
Give me answers where questions have mocked my stress,,, give me love, give me intimacy or I die at his best.

Down, down my life, I lays for him, for the sacred sake of possibility. My boils encrust, with the trust in his ability, festered in sickness do not depart with agility…

Spare me

by walking slow, as if my hurt cripples thee. 

But in Youth, you move swift smooth. And with solemn silence, you thereby promise, to forever more, unremember me. 

June 30th 2013 

To my college love, may written words find you where time faileth me.