Growing into an age

I'm twenty. It's amazing how contradictory I feel. I feel so much more responsible and filled out as a person and yet I feel so inexperienced. So I write poetry. I guess you'll have to get used to me emoting in this manner. It's kind of addicting for me.

I love a fabrication
Of ink and rouge and time.
The twisting calligraphy of personality
Dispersed among the spaces of silence
Voids we filled with our breath
On linen and in each other’s hair

I imagine you a writer
In a pastoral Parisian town
And I an uncompromising artist
Five hundred kilometers away/ Flooding the streets of Florence with colour
My letters would be your wallpaper
And yours the tiling of my floor
Reminding ourselves we are only as distant as a memory

I keep a guest room that you will never visit.
But we make love there every night the sun and moon collide
I love the morning with you
The dewiness of day and
Your frosty breath the cool breeze
Of everything I ever needed
But could never think to ask for.

We lie there, sleeping for centuries.
We are the death of selfishness, the birth of innocence
We are the birds and the grass and the ink and the rouge
We bleed together and time blurs
We love and are love.

Quotes that inspire me

"God expects you to have enough faith and determination and enough trust in Him to keep moving, keep living, keep rejoicing. In fact, He expects you not simply to face the future (that sounds pretty grim and stoic); He expects you to embrace and shape the future-- to love it and rejoice in it and delight in your opportunities. God is anxiously waiting for the chance to answer your prayers and fulfill your dreams, just as He always has. But He can't if you don't pray, and He can't if you don't dream. In short, He can't if you don't believe." ~Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

So that's the best definition of belief in God I have heard so far. And, the crazy thing is... I see how it's true. I've been afforded some clarity in my life. I desperately needed it. While, I don't know for certain if I'm in the major or not yet, I have an excellent shot at it.


"The gift of discernment opens to us vistas that stretch far beyond what can be seen with natural eyes or heard with natural ears. Discerning is seeing with spiritual eyes and feeling with the heart-- seeing and feeling the falsehood of an idea or the goodness in another person. Discerning is hearing with spiritual ears and feeling with the heart--hearing and feeling the unspoken concern in a statement or the truthfulness of a testimony or doctrine." ~Elder David A. Bednar

Burned

It's hot chocolate not a marriage proposal.

More poetry

In sickness I awoke today a shadow of my spirit.
My head was full of thoughts unvoiced
and emotions left to fester.
Someday I'll let them all run loose
and scald the air with life.
But today they'll collect from dripping
from the places I forgot to hide.




I long for a road to run away from all my responsibility.
Sometimes it's dirt and all my troubles filth the air behind me.
Sometimes it's grass and I go slower enjoying the rocky ride.
Somtimes it's sand and I get stuck from problems I left behind.

But then sometimes I stay with structure on pathways made of brick
And I can't see a different road though there are thousands I could pick.
But all I need to run away is the kiss of wind upon my face
Assuring me that leaving is the answer I should take.

A road for my thoughts and a road for my soul
I choose to loosen my grip on control.

Today of all days

Life is crying, then composing, then crying even harder.

The poetry of my day

Salted Wounds

I couldn't let you see me cry.

You who has never known disapointment.
You who was staring at me completely void of emotion.
Not knowing whether to swallow me in your large embrace
or let solitude burn my agony out.
You who kept your gaze fixed, waiting for me to crack.

And I was filled with apathetic rage.
The rage that hollows out your insides
leaving nothing but stinging flesh and
the bite of despair.

And I couldn't let you see me cry.
I couldn't give that gift to you.

My fragile self was too close to the surface and
the steel of your blue eyes was too bitter and
your hands were too rough.
I couldn't be that vulnerable.
I was already broken and blistered
But to be shattered-
well...I could never be me again.