Jealousy. Anger. Slight anger. Resentment. Disappointment. A misunderstanding. A let down. A welling that leads to a falling. Having the floor swept out from beneath you. Concave down. A strangely bitter sick feeling in my lower stomach. The breakdown of a build-up. The catch to anticipation. More slight anger. And loads more jealousy.
Wow, I said that it was okay. That I was fine and didn't care. But whoever said that was a mask; a charade to distract one from the inner tantrum. I don't like feeling like this... get over it, Luke. Maybe next time, alright? Maybe next time.
Opportunity vanished,
so this sets in.
Your Son would have never acted like this.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
A Build-Up in the Breakdown
Hey there.
Its me again.
Is it sad? Sad that I only drag myself to You when I mess up? Though that seems frequent I know that it can never be enough. But here I go again, and I'm just chasing You down again. And chasing skin again. And hitting a brick wall at some hundred miles an hour, coasting on nothing but a mundane and morally undefined wind tunnel justly titled the world. I'm slowly approaching speeds I just canNOT cope with. You know whats going on and you know how my mind is meandering. You try so deperately to show me how and I say "no". I try to cup my problems in my hands and hover over them everytime Your eye sweeps by. And by not keeping this cycle an honest one, or at least an open one, I kill myself inside. Scar tissue gets so weak that little nicks that would formerly unaffect me now cut me the deepest. Do you see? Do You see? What I'm holding is a torrent of knives. So for now, I'll run. Waging everything I've had. Staking all the heart I've shown. Father, annoint my indescion. Can you break lines between eyes and minds? If I'm going to act 'in human nature', can it not be in Your son's? For He was human also! I can take heart, for He overcame the world. But I'm letting the heart seem so insignificant, when in reality it is what I value the absolute most! There was a layer between and I tore it away for my own earthly crave, and I cry out for You to rebuild layers thicker and harder to peel than ever. I thank You so incredibly much for this terrible thorn in my side that jostles every time I consider that beaten freeway. In my rush to be seated, You kept me on my feet and standing and proving that You wouldn't give up so easily.
I have recieved this gift with eyes that pull flowers just like the sun. With a persona resembling thousands of reflected, colored lights. With a smile that radiates to steal glory from the sky. With a soft heart that is so difficult to not absolutely fall for. With a grace that, bar none, becomes the most beautiful thing I have ever seen every time my sight meets it. With a love that grows, endures, satisfies, fills, resonates... yeah, what a gift...
I don't want to cut the string. I don't need to untie the ribbon. This box is so perfect to me just the way it is. Crafted so beautifully, as if it were taylored to my liking. But it may not be, as much as I will hate to admit it. So I leave this intact, and above all, I cherish this present as if to never be brushed by a faulty touch. I'm working on this. I am working on this. I'm aimlessly missing and failing while you have had all of this time to prepare. Forgive my indecision, I am only a man. I don't want to be swept away into an ocean of 'the same mistakes'. To be honest, I want to be that island amidst the ocean where you find the rest of your life. But I have to let Love in before I can promise you much more than I already have. But I am so scared of being another that I start to fit that mold. That limit where a man either is buried or can take up his own and make a difference... and I want to be that difference. So badly. And if Jesus doesn't dance on my breath, how can I expect to be ANY different? I'm not losing you... I'm too blessed to faulter now. Just too lucky to consider throwing beautiful things away...
Its me again.
Is it sad? Sad that I only drag myself to You when I mess up? Though that seems frequent I know that it can never be enough. But here I go again, and I'm just chasing You down again. And chasing skin again. And hitting a brick wall at some hundred miles an hour, coasting on nothing but a mundane and morally undefined wind tunnel justly titled the world. I'm slowly approaching speeds I just canNOT cope with. You know whats going on and you know how my mind is meandering. You try so deperately to show me how and I say "no". I try to cup my problems in my hands and hover over them everytime Your eye sweeps by. And by not keeping this cycle an honest one, or at least an open one, I kill myself inside. Scar tissue gets so weak that little nicks that would formerly unaffect me now cut me the deepest. Do you see? Do You see? What I'm holding is a torrent of knives. So for now, I'll run. Waging everything I've had. Staking all the heart I've shown. Father, annoint my indescion. Can you break lines between eyes and minds? If I'm going to act 'in human nature', can it not be in Your son's? For He was human also! I can take heart, for He overcame the world. But I'm letting the heart seem so insignificant, when in reality it is what I value the absolute most! There was a layer between and I tore it away for my own earthly crave, and I cry out for You to rebuild layers thicker and harder to peel than ever. I thank You so incredibly much for this terrible thorn in my side that jostles every time I consider that beaten freeway. In my rush to be seated, You kept me on my feet and standing and proving that You wouldn't give up so easily.
I have recieved this gift with eyes that pull flowers just like the sun. With a persona resembling thousands of reflected, colored lights. With a smile that radiates to steal glory from the sky. With a soft heart that is so difficult to not absolutely fall for. With a grace that, bar none, becomes the most beautiful thing I have ever seen every time my sight meets it. With a love that grows, endures, satisfies, fills, resonates... yeah, what a gift...
...but then I do things like this,
proving that I am as unworthy to hold the gift
as any of the gifted before me.
I don't want to cut the string. I don't need to untie the ribbon. This box is so perfect to me just the way it is. Crafted so beautifully, as if it were taylored to my liking. But it may not be, as much as I will hate to admit it. So I leave this intact, and above all, I cherish this present as if to never be brushed by a faulty touch. I'm working on this. I am working on this. I'm aimlessly missing and failing while you have had all of this time to prepare. Forgive my indecision, I am only a man. I don't want to be swept away into an ocean of 'the same mistakes'. To be honest, I want to be that island amidst the ocean where you find the rest of your life. But I have to let Love in before I can promise you much more than I already have. But I am so scared of being another that I start to fit that mold. That limit where a man either is buried or can take up his own and make a difference... and I want to be that difference. So badly. And if Jesus doesn't dance on my breath, how can I expect to be ANY different? I'm not losing you... I'm too blessed to faulter now. Just too lucky to consider throwing beautiful things away...
Lets dismantle this and let the heart piece it back together.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Incomplete Segment
draft
A stream of conciousness will not do because I'm all too unconcious and distant from You.
A stream of conciousness will not do because I'm all too unconcious and distant from You.
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