The Epilogue of A Fool

I will sit with ease and comfort tonight while someone out there will freeze.

I will have my fill and drink all that I need as well.

Someone will thirst.

Someone will hunger.

I will live complacently and pass over my Bible tonight....

Someone will cry out for truth.

Someone will DIE for truth.

Someone will fight for just one page......

Of

TRUTH.

Maybe, tomorrow I'll wake up.

The Tin Man's Heart.

I'm a boldly stated apparatus.

So far from a holy status.

I wander to an fro, never knowing where to go.

Everything is inside out.

My hands are full of nothing.

The rainbows on the walls are everything but peaceful.

The heavy things in life are wrapped around my neck.

They hang there like a grind stone set for sinking.

I stand on the edge of the water, praying I won't fall in.

My eyes dare to see what lies beneath your complexion.

Before you know it, I've read you like a book.

Almost set in stone.

Prove me wrong, I'd love for you to try.

I want to be wrong.

Why am I always right?

Could I be like the Tin Man?

I could wear my heart right on my chest, for all the world to see.....

But would I ever use my brain?

Leaves

If I were as tall as a giraffe, I'd still be shorter than the oldest tree.

If I were something that I'm not, then well I'd be someone else.

I'd say it's a hard thing getting out of bed, but truthfully I'd be a fool.

My legs work, and so do my arms.

Now, mustering up the courage to face the bright dawn of a new day, well that's another story.

I'd like to be a coward, it seems it is easiest that way.

But today I will press forward into the terrifying light of today.

Yesterday is hanging onto my coat tails and I'm positive that he really doesn't know the meaning of space.

I told him I'm moving on, but he just won't let go.

He's begging for one last kiss, I'll slip him a tear instead.

Oh tomorrow has grabbed my hand, trying to pull me forward.

I haven't taken the time to prepare, and I haven't washed my hair.

I shouldn't have blinked, my life has blown by like a hurricane nightmare.

I'm guessing that one of these days I'll wake up to the sound of whistling birds.

And I'll cut my pie in thirds, and we'll finish all of our vegetables as we drift into the night.

We'll look up to the sky and take in the delight.

I think we'll end the night with the warmth of each other.

Wrapped up in warm woolen blankets, looking up into the stars.

I'll put my hand in yours, and you'll look into my eyes.

Softly you whisper, "You're the giraffe that could reach the leaves at the top of my tree."

I'm still your daughter.....

Gravity pulls me down.

My face is sinking into this pillow as if I've never felt it's depth before.

I don't want to move.

There are these days where you just don't want to get up.

Rolling over I refocus my gaze at the ceiling.

My mind races with all the words I can conjure up to justify my life.

I can't find a single thing that I like about me.

Truly like.

It seems to me that there is always something I need to fix, or something I need to do.

I'm never really happy with me.

It's so tempting to just destroy myself.

I don't think I really deserve anything good, I hardly have any good in me anyway.

If I were able, I'd snuff me out and make something better.

But, what I do know is that I love:

-People

I give of my:

-Time

-Money

-Body (work)

I care for:

-My family

-My friends

-The common stranger

I need touch:

-Hugs

-A high five

-Hand held tight

I dream:

-I want to make a difference in someone's life

-I want to be a great stylist

I am a sinner:

-Broken

-Guilty

-Imperfect

I am saved:

-Repented

-Redeemed

-Renewed

-Loved

I have a savior:

-Jesus Christ

---------------------No matter how I feel about me, no matter what I do, and no matter where I go, I am still a daughter of Christ.

I don't have to like me, but I love me. I love me because God made me, and He loves me. I may want to pick myself apart and change who I am, but the fact that God chose all of my qualities and knit me together perfectly in the womb will always bring me to my knees. To think that in all my inadequacies and failures, I'm still a beautiful masterpiece is such a beautiful thing.

My hope is in You God, only You.

Holes

I'm looking forward, holding onto the dreams that make me sing.

I get so caught up in the harsh stings of opposition.

I believe, I believe, I believe.

My hands, they are not scarred...

And my hands, they are not bruised....

But your hands, those holes in your hands, the bruises....

They are the strength that carries me.

All I am God is a broken mess.

Full of hate and selfishness.

But your love is more than lavishing.

It's more than a song we sing....

I believe, I believe, I believe.

My hands, they are not scarred...

And my hands, they are not bruised....

But your hands, those holes in your hands, the bruises...

They are the strength that carries me.

I could gaze upon the ugliest mirrors, and still see the beauty of you.

Every day I need your grace, if only to see your face.

Moving through me, living in me, Jesus, replace me.

I believe, I believe, I believe.

My hands, they are not scarred...

And my hands, they are not bruised....

But your hands, those holes in your hands, the bruises...

They are the strength that carries me.

You are the only thing I need.

Popeye

I am twenty one.

I am so incredibly young, it's almost sickening to realize how much I don't know.

Wouldn't it be great if I could know everything I need to know now, and not later?

HA!

Such things aren't meant to be known until I've already made the mistakes.

My mind is a scattered mess.

I'm caught somewhere between a cynic and a saint.

Words seem to be the only expression I can exhale.

All of the inspiration for my artistic expression is overwhelming.

How can the troubled artist be too troubled?

Well folks, it's happening.

Numb.

I'm getting more and more numb and I can't seem to stop.

I want to quit, give up and throw in the towel.

But it's not like me to actually do it.

I am such a creature of habit.

It's practically impossible for me to fully accept defeat.

Life you're fighting pretty hard, but I'm still kicking.

Besides, I eat my spinach.