ocean breathes salty

heard the same,
songs that never sing me to sleep.
replayed the words, you weren't home,
used to call you with disdain.

nothing left to start the days,
heard the same.
nothing to eat, no money to buy,
i'd call with admiration, if you were still around.

left myself open to assumption,
afraid of my honesty.
can't afford to be alive,
running out age old regrets.

ocean gone, don't like my days
trade the water for a traffic life.
so fast i've lost direction.
heard the same voice in the walls,
waking up with emptiness.

letters in the snow

Sometimes the night was beautiful
Sometimes the sky was so far away
Sometimes it seemed to stoop so close
You could touch it but your heart would break

- rich mullins

a spring break journal. thursday, 11:12 pm

it snowed yesterday. i enjoyed it mostly late in the evening, tracing letters on the ground near my steps. i was thinking about doing some more snow writing tomorrow, using small lines from robert frost poems. oh the irony.

then, i actually tried to be productive today, walking to the store to buy groceries and typing homework (a total of 1 page). the groceries i bought were for a small feast, my version of "babette's feast". dinner was lasagna, cooked with a wine/mushroom sauce instead of tomato, and sweet potato wedges. oh, and this crappy australian wine. that, i have decided, is the last cup of wine i will have for a long long time.

my feast wasn't as expensive, or as captivating, as babette's... but it worked. i'm going to try and be more productive again tommorow.

in other news, i'm trying to conjure up thoughts on "self worth" for a youth talk. where does one find self worth?

every light

so, i've come back, once more, to the floor in front of my fireplace. outside my sliding door it is a spring darkness, and the coals in my chimney have long since grown cold (very literary, i would say).

this feels very familiar. my first journals in my townhouse were written right here... except back then i had no couches, and my computer desk was a dining room chair. now my desk is the floor. i've come a long way.

so rather than do the smart thing and eat, or do homework, i'm stuck in the house alone, reflecting on the familiar things in my life.

a) dishes. i started my dish pit job in my school's cafeteria again, for need of food. i'm not officially on staff, so i don't get to have any hours, so, i'm abnout to find out what it means to be a starving student (sigh).

funny, i can stop working there for an entire year, and still know every single niche' about dish washing. my summer job, for two weeks, was doing dishes in a greasy pub, a circumstance filled with many a good story and anology. but thats not the point.

it feels very familiar.

b) i haven't felt all that mature in that past week. reason; for the past week i've been walking through a bog of sad childhood memories, trying to get inspiration for my final christian imagination project. my project is going to be a small collection of poetry and prose, about my faith.

i've discovered something. i've only started processing pain this year. essentially, i'm in a place where i can feel sorry for all the things i never got to feel sorry for, and find healing.

or i might just be crazy.

c) so, to restate the last point, i'm processing pain. i've started to allow myself to feel forgiveness- freedom from unessesary guilt. having pain in ones' life, as every twentysomething has probably figured out by now, is neccesary for growth, for figuring out who we are, where our lives are going, and... in a sense, who God is.

d) i'm tired. it could be because i'm not getting enough excerise, or not getting enough vitmains or i'm drinking too much green tea, or there is some chemical imbalance i'm not aware of.

or there is the less popular theory- i'm bogged down by painful experiences i still have to realize.

e) sometimes its hard to see past our own pain. i like to think that getting past a season of difficulty will allow room for compassion to grow.

again. all of this- working in dishpits, processing pain, resting on my left elbow on the floor... it all feels so familiar.


every light is a longing to run,
every ocean a longing to sail,
every car past my window is a longing to walk,
every evergreen is a longing to be free.

-adam

home

i came to the party,
you couldn't see me,
walked home in dark, the rainy night,
funny how those still comfort me.

went back to my house,
it wasn't home,
hid my face in my hands, till i fell asleep,
funny, don't feel i belong.

i found my place,
for now at least.
thought it was home for awhile, but i still feel so empty,
not sure if i'll ever be complete.