Ink On The Skin

I think I’ll make a beautiful sunset someday. Slow at first. Cloudy. The kind of sky people glance at and dismiss because surely it’ll become nothing. I know that feeling. I often think I am nothing. Just a blip in this overwhelming world full of amazing people. My heart feels like those clouds. Heavy. Gray. Holding too much. But if you wait just a moment longer the whole sky starts bleeding color. Blazing red. Pink. Orange. And maybe then you’ll finally see how much I loved you. How much my heart bled for you. The passion of a naive soul who only ever wanted to see the good in people. Then comes the fading. The deep blue. The purple. The dark swallowing the last little pieces of sunlight. Maybe then you’ll see how sad I was. How badly I longed to leave. Maybe you’ll see the darkness I fought every single day. Maybe you’ll finally notice the bruises you beat into my heart. And this sunset, this aching, burning, beautiful thing, my last gift to you.

When I am old, let me be gentle and kind, on my quiet porch with peaceful mind a rocking chair at end of day, grandchildren near in evening play. When I am old, let love remain, and wash away life's deepest pain. Let Christ shine ever on my face, as I go softly from this place.

The kids burst through the door Dropping their bags Shouts of Mom! Mom! "Look at my robot! It's so cool with its egg carton legs and tape holding it together." I could use some tape myself, To hold this aching head in place. "Mom, I need to tell you, this boy called me a bitch on the bus today." But you're only nine. Why does it start so soon? "Mom what's for dinner?" Dinner... I don't know Everything aches down to my bones; My fingertips scream at me, I'm craving someplace quiet Their laughter spills around me Like musical wind chimes But also like an overwhelming flood Its raining today and cold Cold like my prayers, Too many clouds, maybe They bounce my thoughts Back into my head. My insides are a dark hole, Pulling me inward as if I'll fold into myself. "Hey mom, I love you. Can I give you a hug?" 

Life spills across your canvas, never finished, never still. Deep blues pool in the valleys of your eyes, blending into yellows that burst with laughter, a sunlight smear of blush across shadowed cheeks Oranges igniting in your chest, whiskey flames,  burning sparks, kisses, pressed like fire to your skin. Greens breathe between your ribs between fingers intertwined, summer grass and the hum of insects, quiet peace weaving through motion Grays curl and drift like soft smoke, blacks etch edges, sharpen your corners, the outline of who you are against the blur of everything else. Pink dances across your cheeks, rosy winter snowflakes delicate balance on lashes, icy fingers, crisp laughter, white silence catching your breathe Reds bleed, screaming streaking across fierce and unrestrained survival, your heartbeat, heartbreak the raw pulse of life. Purple sunsets unfolding in your gaze, hands on hips, the horizon deep as wine, your eyes drinking tomorrow before i...

Why do I hold on to the things that hurt me? Clutching them tightly to my aching heart, razor wire wrapped around every bleeding part. Why do I long for it, that familiar comfort of pain? Brick by brick, I built it, layered thick in a blanket of shame. Ghosts wander the graveyard of meaningless expectations; weight piled high on the back of a child too small to carry it. To be good, is to be loved. My eyes swim, heat floods my face. To be quiet, is to be loved. Hurt becomes the armor; barbed wire holds me in place. Climbing out of the box in my head, dodging landmines and triggers, gasping for air because I am not yet dead! Water and blood overflow. My heart, saturated with grace, lets go of every aching part. Clutching His hand instead, and reaching for the stars. The comfort of His embrace healing my bleeding heart. Brick by brick, the wall comes down. His glory on my face.

 Was it the first time the rod hit me? that jolt of pain wrapping around me soft skin burning black and blue with marks that said I hate you Was it your hand? the sudden pain red blooming fast like red hot flames the sting and shame the searing trace the marks you left across my face Was it the screams? that shattered me that stole my breath and mind from me each wave that crashed each quiet plea unraveled all my sanity Somehow through that I stayed alive kept on breathing learned to survive but deep inside behind my eyes I tend to think I also died

 Darkness creeps in so agonizingly slow, a tide licking at my feet. With it comes the cold, crawling up my legs, nesting deep within my bones. Bones that beg for warmth. My bed becomes my solace. Sinking into softness and the warm embrace of sleep. My thoughts begin to fade; the warmth devouring the cold. But then the fire begins. It’s crawling up my spine, clawing, gnawing, putrid hands tearing flesh from nerves, from bones. Chewing at the edges of my sanity. And then… almost… sleep almost finds me but I am not alone in this night. Another set of hands, still attached, still warm, still needy. A whisper curls into my ear, a cruel disguise of love. Let me cure your aching bones. Let me take what I am owed. Sleep will never come, only the slow unraveling in the dark, in the teeth of the night.

One. Two. Three. One. Tw- I didn’t do it right. Breath. Breath. Breath. Why can’t I get it right? One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. There’s a live wire in my head, buzzing, buzzing like flies. I can’t turn it off! My nerves are raw- Raw meat, meat, meat. I’m washing my hands too much. Skin is peeling, bleeding drip, drip, drip. Never clean enough. Just shut up. SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Stepped on a crack- I should call my mother.  What if she's hurt? What if she dies? What if it's my fault? One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Knocking, knocking I don’t want to open. I really am the worst. The worst daughter. The worst person. Tap. Tap. Tap. The voice in my head- machine guns drilling. I need, I need… What do I need? Silence, probably, or a reset button? Can I start over? One. Two. Three. That bird is so beautiful, so… peaceful. No rules. No counting. No checking. No soap and blood. I wish I could fly, fly away from my brain. But, I’d probably suck at flying. Still, I might try. Even if ...

 My chest is tight I am suffocating There is a lump The size of your fist Cemented in my throat stop There is no fight Left in me And I am choking On long, thick tendrils That wind down my spine stop I am frozen Ice climbs up my toes Numb my brain I’m floating away Eyes fade to black stop

Can you see the Shepherd waiting In the long and noisy line, with their searching eyes that wander as they look for those they love? When the child runs to greet them, all the world is held in place every noise is drawn to stillness; The world pauses for their embrace Can you see the careful Architect inside the softness of your smile, how the blueprint of your laughter lies in the lines that time designed? And your hair moves like a whisper, brushing lightly past your cheek Your voice like Heaven's music Filling the room with joyful grace Can you hear the Holy voice rise in a newborn's fragile cry, as if Heaven bends to touch us, meeting earth in breath and skin? For this miracle is ancient Yet it burns anew each time A woman's share in creation, bearing life through the Divine. Can you feel Love overflowing as the crowds are pressing near, with arms outstretched and longing in their hunger for God's grace Every heartbeat pleading quietly for...

I wish I could go back ten years ago Trapped in endless tradition, under impossible expectations I would trade the hard swallow, and stinging hot tears, for a scream I wish I could go back fifteen years past and shove that quiet submission down your fucking throat, shake off the grip of borrowed religion, and finally scream I wish I could go back twenty seven years ago To when your hands laid claim on my body, Taking what was never yours, hollowing me into nothing and just scream I wish I could go back thirty four years ago new to this world, lungs full and unbroken, a body untouched by harm, fierce, resilient and never stop screaming

In another world, my mother doesn't meet my father. In another world, it is softer, kinder for different people. In another world, my mother lives in a cabin hidden in the mountains, the creak of a rocking chair, the smell of baking. She wears soft blue jeans and old, faded flannel shirts. She smiles at her chickens and lives slow by a crackling fire. In another world, my father doesn't meet my mother. In another world, it is softer, kinder to a sweet little boy. In another world, there is no screaming or alcohol. My father finishes top of his class and makes it to the moon. In another world, he strums his guitar while coffee brews. Rain falls softly, and it feels like home. In another world, I exist only in their dreams. In the smell of rain, in the warmth of the sun. I twinkle in the stars and curl in the steam of a hot cup. I flicker in the lightning bugs and rumble in the sky. I am the soft, warm wind in the chime of music I am in the sparks...