A Little Bit Brave

Sanctuary it must be me. the verses are there, this room is called “sanctuary” for a reason, with glass as stained as me depicting a savior as anxious as me. whom shall i fear? of whom shall i be afraid? i don’t know and it’s not important. i’m still shaking trying to be still and no matter what i don’t know who He is. God, you say that darkness is as light to you but i can’t see my hands in front of my face. i’m swimming in shadows, used the last of my oxygen cursing myself.  and i’m afraid of what i’ll see if i turn on the lights this sin demands payment in blood so i pour myself out. i am the one who deserves these lines carved over and over yet you are well acquainted with pain and panic you have seen the earth you created stained with your fear you are scarred with the reminder of all the weight you chose to carry because somehow, you love me you named the worthless worth dying for. now i look in the mirror, at rib...

i point to the line of trees and say we can stop there. she says we can keep going. this week, i did not want to hurt myself. i say  i’ve finally reached the other side she says we can keep going. it is warm outside and i take off my flannel; i am wearing short sleeves underneath. she is not afraid. she has never been afraid of me. today, recovery is yoga mats and coffee mugs and hiking a mountain. more than that, recovery is discovering that i can go so much further that I believe. maybe this is what it means to be alive. spring comes late here. maybe i am on colorado time. april is almost over and i am still thawing out, but this weekend reminds me that snow and sun can live in the same month. maybe being alive is more than waiting for life to happen. maybe getting better is more than having answers for every question. maybe becoming who i am meant to be is more than figuring stuff*   out. looking out over boulder...

(friday morning, april 12) 6:00am is soft and grey and music a morning without pressure, only to breathe and be present. Rain and spring are tied together here. But I know: a harsh winter doesn’t promise a mild summer.  As the cold in my bones thaws, no one can promise easy. Meredith sings along and maybe this is grace— daring to sing before sunrise. There is no perfection here. This is so much more. Here is songs in the dark with rattle heartbeats, holding each other with earthquake hands The storms and the drought and the ice come, and  most of the time I don’t understand. The older I get, the more confused I am. How is this God’s will for me? Where is hope when I’m not sure I want a future? But here is morning and coffee with struggle turned pretty by facing the dawn. And no, I don’t know how to keep going. I don’t know how to say “I love you” without stuttering or if I will every truly feel the sun a...

live recording of poem. last year,  I  got the pleasure of coming to inspired poet, and I heard a poet speak. and one of the things that she said was that we need to use our voices even if we ’ re afraid and even if it ’ s just a whisper. and I have a friend and mentor who has told me that  I  have something to say. and in our first session, my counselor told me, he reminded me that nobody has everything together. these are the things I want to tell you. and this is my whisper. ________________________________ here is the finished product on fluorescent light display you can see all the right brushstrokes from behind a measured line put on a platform because this is finished, i swear it is perfect         perfect         perfect a masterpiece on display because i know all the right places to hide. it is easier to hide. it is safer to  hide behind layers of dishonest truth i am okay     ...