Tell Me:


There were words I wanted to say,

but didn’t know how.


Because how do you explain perpetual heartbreak?

And how do you say “I’m sorry”

and “I love you”

in the same sentence?


How do you ask someone to stay?

How do you tell them how you really feel?

How do you explain that your chest is heavy?

And how do you explain that every task on your to-do list

is a chore?

without becoming a burden?


Explain to me because I want to know

Will you still love me when I am so sorrowful?

Will you hold my hand even though it is so heavy?

Am I allowed to apologize for being too much or will you become annoyed

because I am considered too needy?


Tell me because I need to know.

My heart is too heavy for jokes and fallacies.

I am too unclear to understand the ideas you are connecting with simple words.


Tell me.

I know I’m not the only one.

Tell me.

Are the hands that cradle the stars still holding my heart?


A poem


I used periods.

and she used a conjunction, but

It was the way we were.

I would finish tasks.

And she would start them,

and somehow it all worked out

Because both were necessary,

and we knew the balance would be found.

Made Me New


For I have fallen, lower than low

In a place I’ve learned to call home.

A house that is comfortable and diminished.


Far from you I cry out

In fear

For I cannot face this world alone.

I belong to you.


Make me new. Make me new.

For I am dust; far from you.

I am walking in the sludge of my own mess,

Unknown to the fact that I can walk among the light,

No longer lost in the shadows.


Make me new

For my heart is far from you,

But I want to be close.

Make me new.






For I belong to you

My heart is low and broken.

Tempted and tried,

I am found guilty in the Judge’s eyes,

But you have made me new.


Joy such joy! on that day when I see my Maker’s face

And He smiles upon me with his unchanging grace.

Despite the muck and mire still on my shoes,

Despite the fear that wrapped me like a cloak,

Despite the judgement in my eyes,

And the unfaithfulness in my heart,

He forgave me and made me new.


Said “your past is no longer your own,

and I will pay the price of your disgrace.

If you let me love you, I will adopt you.”


And so I serve not out of compulsion,

but because of his compassion.

He set a fire.

He saved my soul.

He gave me a gift.


Tell me.

What could I do but lift my hands

When I remember His name?

For He made me new

Took my brokenness and called me worthy,

Made me belong in a place far better than I.


Tell me.

What am I to do but lift my hands?



The leaves fall slowly, carried off by the wind.

Crunch, crunch.

Under my feet, summer dies.

Not unlike the deciduous trees, I’m changing too.

The drizzle of rain is not uncommon.

The green blanket of grass is covered by

copper coins.

Begin to pull that sweater


Down come the sleeves, over come the turtle necks

The roundness of all kinds of pumpkin lovin’

Never to be unwelcome.

We all wear facades

So put on another ’cause Halloween calls for a third face.

The clouds have come to show themselves

And shower their


Goodbye dear Sun you were warm and inviting;

Thanks for spreading the rays.

But here come the


With rain boots and lattes and scarves galore.

Pull up your socks for the cold creeps in. Before

Autumn is ready to wave goodbye.

Snuggle with the one you love for weather is another excuse

To just be

Together. Find

A winding road and let the glory of gold wash over you

With the sleek blackness of wet pavement.

Let the copper coins wink in your face as they shimmer elegance.

Accept that eighteen is not a crisp autumn and rejoice.

For so many seasons are still ahead.

Cup the warm spices in your hand

And sing in the long folksy way only an autumn girl can.

Let the chill of the wind pull your hair in any direction it feels;

For what is autumn without a fog.

The last days

Swollen cheeks,

His eyes,

Shrunken shoulders.

That thick white hair,

One wave.

Snow and love,

My hands sifted through.

Kissed his forehead,


“I love you,”

Countless times.

His head

More skull than flesh;

His hands but not

He held mine back.


I grasped,

Refusing to let go.


He held on,

Telling me it’d be alright.

Eventually he let go

And I understood.

It was time.

He wasn’t being rude,

But Honest,


“Pretty girl,

Beautiful girl,

I love you.”

He’d said the first night

Though he could barely speak.

I won’t forget, I promised.

I’ll never forget.

But I’ll always miss you.

Who will stand when I’ve no strength

Honestly I thought I would


Or maybe that’s what I wanted

For all the pain to be taken away,

But I should’ve been inviting Him in

To comfort me

Not trying to do it on my own.

I’m not that strong.

I shouldn’t be asking to not have to deal with this.

I should be trying to find the best way to fix it,

Rather than dump it on the side of the road.

It’s just that I’m tired.

The road is long,

And I forget who’s fighting for me.

Who will stand

When I’ve no strength left,

Who makes me


The storm of suicide

We were driving when the call came in.

It was a tournament day.

I thought I would vomit when I heard the news.

I thought I would vomit for days.

Sometimes I still do, but I remember

Shock and shattering heart break.

I remember there was no split second before I cried.

There was no half a minute of blank stares.

There was only heart wrenching sobs.

-A friend sat in the back of my car.

I always wondered what it was like to see humanity fall apart

and not feel an inkling of that grief.

To just observe a human in the wrecking state of it all.

But that’s a different point.

Every time I went up to serve all I could see was-

I can’t even say the words.

But tell me why is hangman a child’s game?

Only fools play when men die hanging from a noose.

But when I served, I’d want to fall apart all over again,

but I couldn’t. I could not.

For my only memories of him were good,

And many there were so many.

He laughed, he cracked jokes, he smiled.

He always smiled.

Sometimes storms

Make me want to dance and sing.

When the pitter patters seems like it fits the rythm of my heart beat.

-But there are other days when I feel as though

If the sky fell apart it’d somehow ease my aching heart.

And maybe that’s because the first time suicide knocked on my door,

It stole a loved one.

It ripped my heart apart. It shred it to pieces.

By sunrise the sky had fallen apart.

It was a ghastly storm, unnatural, fitting.

It lasted all weekend and it was only right, for the ground needed to be cleansed.

I couldn’t have handled sunshine.

For my heart seemed to tear into a thousand pieces

While the thunder cracked the silence.

I was curled in a ball in a darkened closet, crying out to God.

Yelling “why’s” when I knew that was not the question that God cared to hear.

But darkness slowly faded around me encompassing what I knew to be true and right and holy.

I remember fear seeping in.

The realization of what my hands could do, the heartache I could cause.

The lies I believed and how they could fester and grow and convince me of untruths.

Truly, in my hands I held the power of life and death.

I was so afraid that I would choose the wrong one.

So afraid that my mind would create its own storm.

I was so afraid for all the others who were thinking of taking their life into their own hands.

And so in that closet, I cried out my prayers to the only One who can hold heartbreak.

Mirror rorriM

My mother once told me I was gorgeous;

I cannot tell you why.

I did not believe her.

I saw the wrinkles of anger between my brows,

Not the heart hidden beneath

My thickly, strengthened torso.

The voice I heard was harsh and unkind, unlike hers.

My laugh was gritty not refined

I did not know it soothed her cries.

These thoughts of mine were hidden behind a smile I despised.

I wished to argue but held my tongue

For I wanted her to think me pure.

I wanted her to believe me beautiful because I could not.

Occasionally I saw it on my face

Yet rarely did I see true grace.

I would not give her another reason to find me broken.

For I could not of my own accord

Convince her of something different.

If she considered me beautiful maybe I was.

Mother was not often incorrect,

But could I trust my own line of thought?

When as I mentioned previously,

I couldn’t stand my face in the mirror

Or the tears that dripped silently in the night.

For if my worth was more than my weight on the scale,

Would I then stop believing the lies

Of self-condemnation and hatred?

I’d been down that road before

Not here to despise the girl I’d become,

Didn’t want to walk back through that door.

My mother saw me pretty; could that be enough?

Or did I need to believe it too?

Could my strong, calloused hands be pretty?

I chose to believe something besides the lies.

So shame was no longer my middle name

And guilt didn’t follow my every wandering.

That my Father in heaven had never

Wanted me to get hurt. He created me intricately.

Still I chose to see how

My flaws weren’t printed in the magazines,

But dirty dimes are chosen because

They are worth more than perfect pennies.


Break the Glass

“It’s broken. It’s broken. It’s broken.” I could hear him whisper as I approached.

I went to the pile of glass and began picking up the pieces. I cupped them in my hands and walked toward him. As I did so he threw another glass jar at the garage door.

“Stop trying to fix it. There’s no point.” He could barely get the words out. It was as if a load of bricks had fallen on his chest.

“Glue. Glue.” I said still cupping the broken bits. “I can fix it with glue.”  The glint in the glass winked at the sky.

“No.” He threw another jar at the door as if it were a baseball. “No you can’t.”

I sat down. Holding the glass in my hand, I figured I would wait, for what I wasn’t sure.

As he continued to smash glass jars against the garage door, he began to speak. “Broken.” He said. “I’m broken. They don’t want me. They don’t need me. I am not good enough.” The glass cracked and smashed. “You idiot.” He yelled, “how could you! You’ll never be valuable. You aren’t worth anything! Go die!”Another perfectly good jar smashed into the wall breaking into tiny bits. “You’re so weak!” He continued to yell throwing another jar.

His demeanor changed; his posture fell. The tears came slowly and then all at once. He threw the last jar and whispered, “I hate you.” He began to sob. I cannot explain how much I respected him for actually being real with his pain. For I’d found that that was one of the hardest things to do- to be honest with the way I felt.

I sat with him. I never really said anything. I just sat there. I wanted to tell him that I believed in him. I wanted to show him that he meant the world to me, but I didn’t know how to make him believe it. I couldn’t prove his worth to him. And I knew no words would suffice. So we just sat there as the world stopped and his heart broke.