The heart of the woman is exsanguinating,
Bleeding due to the spot excised of real men.
They want what is of a dying lineage.
Knights in shining armor are compromised to
One night stands & falsified, demystified romance.
Doors once opened & chairs pulled out turn to
Parapets of hypermasculinity, walled up in their own castle,
Heirs with an air of arrogance & self-entitlement.
Chivalry is not dead, but in word & deed, it is flatlining.
The stress & duress of societal standards encapsulate me like a sparkled strangle hold,
encompassing me in a faberge egg of idealized perfections, my lungs compressed
under the weight of unnatural androids, pixelated impostors
idolized by the masses.
The tinted lens of cinematography
points to the vertices of the fake & the sensationalized.
Do you See?! Gee, I thought women had beauty without add-ons of anti-wrinkle or cover-up products,
Turning crow's feet to canary talons, downsizing their cougar status to pseudo kitten privilege.
Where is the real?
May I steal away your attention from the digitally enhanced demons telling you
subtle, subliminal, & overt lies that are caustically eroding your self-esteem?
YOU ARE UNMISTAKABLY BEAUTIFUL.
There is a King who wants to crown you with the tiara of righteousness.
His confidence makes up for any doubt you possess.
He seeks to cauterize and fill your gaping wound with His Son,
illuminating every darkened sky line & mending every stitch & staple that
ineffectually holds the tattered pieces of your "love"-stricken heart.
The Knight that brings the day,
the Truth that dispels every lie;
He is the Defibrillator to chivalry's flatline.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Monday, September 19, 2011
Hiding In Plain Sight
For a decade almost, I've had seeds of anger, cultivated under the soil of my past in regards to my original church. Entrenched in tradition, I went majorly to please my parents. "Honor thy father and mother", right? I knew what not to do and avoided them. Pretty simple operation for a naive child, over-protected and smothered by the fabric of pews every Sunday. Then, my world opened up and closed off at the same time: I graduated to the youth program, if one can call it that.
I didn't have a full set of social tools to bridge gaps between myself and others easily. I was quiet, reserved, wanting acceptance, but the way to achieve it was unknown. In the Real World of my group, it came as no surprise that I was cliqued out of that channel of the upper echelon. In hindsight, I could've tried more instead of isolating and victimizing myself, but I didn't know what I know now. With three to four leadership changes in our youth group generation, there was no one to cling to for tangible comfort; by the time they got close, they left. This made us detached from the church; we didn't have much of a voice, our teenage outcries squashed by wretched indifference and assumptions of us being okay.
We spoke of camps being the end-all-be-all of our spiritual unrest. Like throwing preteens to a babysitter, it seemed that God could only be seen or experienced at places with colored flags flying high. We got a spiritual adrenaline rush for at most a week, and then we got a one-way ticket back to topical relationships, half-hearted attempts, luke-warm pursuits, self-fulfilling prophecies, and holistic unfulfillment from the one place we could've utilized as refuge and sanctuary: the bride of Christ.
There was a sinful virus that ran rampant in our group; its symptoms being legalism, social barriers, superiority, and pride. It incurred deep spiritual wounds in a majority of us. Out of the 30-40 people that were in the youth, 4-6 of us still go to the same church. Though unbiblical, I understand why people leave places they were hurt by.
~80% mortality rate. Impressive, Satan.
To all who knew me, I pray you can forgive my reclusive nature, my selfishness, and my pride running so deep that I breathed in the pollen of my anger in full bloom in silence rather than pursuing hatchet-burying.
To all who can empathize with this situation at all, I pray that whatever sin, shame, hurt, anger, or judgment you were subjected to can be given to the One who died for all these things. I pray you can let go. Healing is a time-staking, painfully aggravating process, but it's far healthier than harboring pain and allowing it to fester and ferment into the heady brew of bitterness.
I didn't have a full set of social tools to bridge gaps between myself and others easily. I was quiet, reserved, wanting acceptance, but the way to achieve it was unknown. In the Real World of my group, it came as no surprise that I was cliqued out of that channel of the upper echelon. In hindsight, I could've tried more instead of isolating and victimizing myself, but I didn't know what I know now. With three to four leadership changes in our youth group generation, there was no one to cling to for tangible comfort; by the time they got close, they left. This made us detached from the church; we didn't have much of a voice, our teenage outcries squashed by wretched indifference and assumptions of us being okay.
We spoke of camps being the end-all-be-all of our spiritual unrest. Like throwing preteens to a babysitter, it seemed that God could only be seen or experienced at places with colored flags flying high. We got a spiritual adrenaline rush for at most a week, and then we got a one-way ticket back to topical relationships, half-hearted attempts, luke-warm pursuits, self-fulfilling prophecies, and holistic unfulfillment from the one place we could've utilized as refuge and sanctuary: the bride of Christ.
There was a sinful virus that ran rampant in our group; its symptoms being legalism, social barriers, superiority, and pride. It incurred deep spiritual wounds in a majority of us. Out of the 30-40 people that were in the youth, 4-6 of us still go to the same church. Though unbiblical, I understand why people leave places they were hurt by.
~80% mortality rate. Impressive, Satan.
To all who knew me, I pray you can forgive my reclusive nature, my selfishness, and my pride running so deep that I breathed in the pollen of my anger in full bloom in silence rather than pursuing hatchet-burying.
To all who can empathize with this situation at all, I pray that whatever sin, shame, hurt, anger, or judgment you were subjected to can be given to the One who died for all these things. I pray you can let go. Healing is a time-staking, painfully aggravating process, but it's far healthier than harboring pain and allowing it to fester and ferment into the heady brew of bitterness.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Before I came to understand
Excuse my diction,
It being dissimilar to society's depiction
Of fact and fiction;
But who has the authority to that kind of restriction
Of yeses and nos,
Rights and wrongs;
Who gets to draw the line between states of elite and dereliction?
My very opinion: a complex contradiction
Of what the secular world considers to be the way;
Like curds and whey separated by vinegar,
Take this with a grain of salt.
My voice, my truth, my witness-the way I exalt
My God, though always at fault.
Because of my humanity;
My ability to sin.
My soul in spiritual warfare,
My mind in constant doubt,
My heart and morals deflecting temptation,
God, make me a demenstration
And show me the light, so I may take the darkness out.
It being dissimilar to society's depiction
Of fact and fiction;
But who has the authority to that kind of restriction
Of yeses and nos,
Rights and wrongs;
Who gets to draw the line between states of elite and dereliction?
My very opinion: a complex contradiction
Of what the secular world considers to be the way;
Like curds and whey separated by vinegar,
Take this with a grain of salt.
My voice, my truth, my witness-the way I exalt
My God, though always at fault.
Because of my humanity;
My ability to sin.
My soul in spiritual warfare,
My mind in constant doubt,
My heart and morals deflecting temptation,
God, make me a demenstration
And show me the light, so I may take the darkness out.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Mama Monster's Hysterectomy
Kaleidoscope hair, lightning bolt eyes,
Bandstands of dramatic, it's no wonder
She hides her true identity.
She grinds and howls in the shadows,
Hiding in plain sight, her mask painted upon
Her face like a make-shift masquerade.
P-p-p-p-please spare me from the sultry slitherings,
The auto-tuned siren song, the sex-infused pandering to the masses.
The broken record that's sensationalized, the individuality
So explicit, like a moth to a flamethrower;
Forced uniquity so domineering,
A man-eater straddling an asexual,
Refusing to be ignored.
The trinkets of spirituality and the crosses adorned
Are flagrantly exhibited in flippant ceremony.
Under the guise of subtle 'worship', the only
Thing she she puts her paws up to is her own vanity.
Her own god is her mirror; her sacrilege, unapologetic and trendy.
Her lust-inducing, chameleonic hip gyrations act as hypnotic metronomes
to the club-thirsty, drink-drowned, and naevity-laced populace.
Her ovaries ooze out deception & strobe lights;
Her uterine wall is clung to by sin;
Her fallopian tubes are the roads to destruction.
She prepares to pop out another stillbirth,
And it's time for a doctor's visit.
Bandstands of dramatic, it's no wonder
She hides her true identity.
She grinds and howls in the shadows,
Hiding in plain sight, her mask painted upon
Her face like a make-shift masquerade.
P-p-p-p-please spare me from the sultry slitherings,
The auto-tuned siren song, the sex-infused pandering to the masses.
The broken record that's sensationalized, the individuality
So explicit, like a moth to a flamethrower;
Forced uniquity so domineering,
A man-eater straddling an asexual,
Refusing to be ignored.
The trinkets of spirituality and the crosses adorned
Are flagrantly exhibited in flippant ceremony.
Under the guise of subtle 'worship', the only
Thing she she puts her paws up to is her own vanity.
Her own god is her mirror; her sacrilege, unapologetic and trendy.
Her lust-inducing, chameleonic hip gyrations act as hypnotic metronomes
to the club-thirsty, drink-drowned, and naevity-laced populace.
Her ovaries ooze out deception & strobe lights;
Her uterine wall is clung to by sin;
Her fallopian tubes are the roads to destruction.
She prepares to pop out another stillbirth,
And it's time for a doctor's visit.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Spiritual Committophobe
"Yeah...I'm not ready for this next step."
"That's fine. I'm a patient kind of God."
"Why do you want me to do this? Of all people?"
"Well, I'll answer your question with My own."
"What's that?"
"Why shouldn't I want you to do this?"
"How much time do you have?"
"Truthfully? All the time in the world. And More."
"Well, I lie, I hide, my past relationships incurred A LOT of baggage, I compare myself to others, and I'm kind of a whore. I doubt, I worry, my feelings rule my life, and did I mention I'm a whore?!"
"Yes. You mentioned that once or twice. As God of this universe, I have the ability to count. It's pretty sweet. Anyway, I don't buy it. I knew all this before you did. What else you got?"
"Well,-"
"I'm stopping you there. You're being critical about my creation, and it offends Me. You: I made you in My image. You accept & perpetuate lies that become believable, and it tests my patience.
You say you're a whore. You're self-aware, and I mean to encourage you when I say you're closer to me than you think. You're in like company. There are people who yell louder in response to a touchdown, a head shot, or a Pokemon evolving more than they ever did when they were playing the frozen chosen in a church. There are people who squeal in delight at a shore clearance sale, a decorative throw pillow blowout, or a pregnancy more than they do when they make time to even talk to Me. Not with Me, but to Me: the God who made the cow that was killed for the leather of the shoes being sold, the God who made the cotton to fill those superfluous throw pillows, and the God that procured the orgasm from nothing so they actually have some foresight in regards to that pregnancy!
The truth is, you all have something in common: your priorities don't include me. I love you enough to tell you I've never been okay with this; neglect & disobedience will be unacceptable at all times. At one time, you chose Me; you then opted to become a slave of men. You are all adulteresses, and My collective bride deserves a divorce from me, but I love you all too much to sign the papers.
You've listed, very adequately mind you, your weaknesses that would prevent you from doing what I'm inviting you to join me in. It only showcases your doubt & self-pity. Focus on my grace rather than your inadequacy. And you're right. You can't... alone. Trust in me. I'm not going to fail you."
"Promise?"
"Read My word, buddy. I've made enough promises & haven't broken one yet. Have faith, child. You in or not?"
"That's fine. I'm a patient kind of God."
"Why do you want me to do this? Of all people?"
"Well, I'll answer your question with My own."
"What's that?"
"Why shouldn't I want you to do this?"
"How much time do you have?"
"Truthfully? All the time in the world. And More."
"Well, I lie, I hide, my past relationships incurred A LOT of baggage, I compare myself to others, and I'm kind of a whore. I doubt, I worry, my feelings rule my life, and did I mention I'm a whore?!"
"Yes. You mentioned that once or twice. As God of this universe, I have the ability to count. It's pretty sweet. Anyway, I don't buy it. I knew all this before you did. What else you got?"
"Well,-"
"I'm stopping you there. You're being critical about my creation, and it offends Me. You: I made you in My image. You accept & perpetuate lies that become believable, and it tests my patience.
You say you're a whore. You're self-aware, and I mean to encourage you when I say you're closer to me than you think. You're in like company. There are people who yell louder in response to a touchdown, a head shot, or a Pokemon evolving more than they ever did when they were playing the frozen chosen in a church. There are people who squeal in delight at a shore clearance sale, a decorative throw pillow blowout, or a pregnancy more than they do when they make time to even talk to Me. Not with Me, but to Me: the God who made the cow that was killed for the leather of the shoes being sold, the God who made the cotton to fill those superfluous throw pillows, and the God that procured the orgasm from nothing so they actually have some foresight in regards to that pregnancy!
The truth is, you all have something in common: your priorities don't include me. I love you enough to tell you I've never been okay with this; neglect & disobedience will be unacceptable at all times. At one time, you chose Me; you then opted to become a slave of men. You are all adulteresses, and My collective bride deserves a divorce from me, but I love you all too much to sign the papers.
You've listed, very adequately mind you, your weaknesses that would prevent you from doing what I'm inviting you to join me in. It only showcases your doubt & self-pity. Focus on my grace rather than your inadequacy. And you're right. You can't... alone. Trust in me. I'm not going to fail you."
"Promise?"
"Read My word, buddy. I've made enough promises & haven't broken one yet. Have faith, child. You in or not?"
Barrier Backlash
Monochromatic manipulation fusing white & black to numbing shades of gray,
Ichor-slicked sputum bubbling behind pearly whites,
Self-disgust becomes systemic, shame is malignant,
Pride is embedded, never sated, everlastingly perpetuated.
Reclusion: our very self, our husk can become a custom-tailored prison.
Cocoons of denial, excuses, and victimization incur the opposite of its purpose:
They shrink us & dessicate our relationship with God rather than grow.
One becomes bogged down with backstory, suffocating on self-sufficiency
Christ's blood-stained lens cracks, distorting sin,
Silenced into a sleeper cell, disguised in societal acceptance.
Obfuscating spiritual obesity: the negative feedback loop.
We consume vanity, compromise with comparison & quaff questionable activity.
Every filling focal point other than the Father,
Every Christian calorie uncounted & unapplied lesson
Steadily, unassumingly, gets stored as fat.
Brick by brick, the castle is constructed, man-made,
Deluded in the belief that the inactivated knowledge protects,
But the amber-tinted, soul-clogging globules only fossilize.
Stagnantly, it inhibits our sanctifying evolution,
Eventually leading to our extinction.
Ichor-slicked sputum bubbling behind pearly whites,
Self-disgust becomes systemic, shame is malignant,
Pride is embedded, never sated, everlastingly perpetuated.
Reclusion: our very self, our husk can become a custom-tailored prison.
Cocoons of denial, excuses, and victimization incur the opposite of its purpose:
They shrink us & dessicate our relationship with God rather than grow.
One becomes bogged down with backstory, suffocating on self-sufficiency
Christ's blood-stained lens cracks, distorting sin,
Silenced into a sleeper cell, disguised in societal acceptance.
Obfuscating spiritual obesity: the negative feedback loop.
We consume vanity, compromise with comparison & quaff questionable activity.
Every filling focal point other than the Father,
Every Christian calorie uncounted & unapplied lesson
Steadily, unassumingly, gets stored as fat.
Brick by brick, the castle is constructed, man-made,
Deluded in the belief that the inactivated knowledge protects,
But the amber-tinted, soul-clogging globules only fossilize.
Stagnantly, it inhibits our sanctifying evolution,
Eventually leading to our extinction.
"Legalies It"
Calling all the oppressed, weary & easily fixed,
Thoughts of prosperity gospel are not mixed
like the incompatibility of Living Water & snake oil.
This anthem of Best Life Now cannot continue its cadence.
Entrepreneur of untruth, a brand
of wide smiles & slicked-back hair,
utilized & sold to falsify & ensnare.
Please, I insist: buyers beware.
The guile of demons within the church reek like cannabis,
mutagenizing worship to step-by-step programs of self-sufficiency.
How chronic in 4:20 time do we inhale the sickly sweet hit
of tradition, comfort & safety?
How often do we roll with the punches of daily changed rules?
How blunt are the guidelines we put on ourselves
to "good" our way to the Being that loves us more than we can fathom?
We are under the spiritual maladjustment of Sister Mary Jane.
The Conductor of the Pineapple Express, she heaps half-truths & white lies
to fuel the loathsome locomotive of our desire.
For ourselves instead of Christ.
The pursuit for possession of power is a precursor to the primary problem.
The drug-inducing short-term memory loss, the very purple haze of legalism
that people want to utilize for escape is a cloud of deception;
the very place they run to for assumed freedom
is the place where one person after another gets trapped.
When the foggy narcotic yields excessive hunger
for something other than Him,
there is a costly disconnect.
It imbues the worst spiritual paranoia: "Am I saved?"
Or worse yet: "I'm totally fine...right?"
Thoughts of prosperity gospel are not mixed
like the incompatibility of Living Water & snake oil.
This anthem of Best Life Now cannot continue its cadence.
Entrepreneur of untruth, a brand
of wide smiles & slicked-back hair,
utilized & sold to falsify & ensnare.
Please, I insist: buyers beware.
The guile of demons within the church reek like cannabis,
mutagenizing worship to step-by-step programs of self-sufficiency.
How chronic in 4:20 time do we inhale the sickly sweet hit
of tradition, comfort & safety?
How often do we roll with the punches of daily changed rules?
How blunt are the guidelines we put on ourselves
to "good" our way to the Being that loves us more than we can fathom?
We are under the spiritual maladjustment of Sister Mary Jane.
The Conductor of the Pineapple Express, she heaps half-truths & white lies
to fuel the loathsome locomotive of our desire.
For ourselves instead of Christ.
The pursuit for possession of power is a precursor to the primary problem.
The drug-inducing short-term memory loss, the very purple haze of legalism
that people want to utilize for escape is a cloud of deception;
the very place they run to for assumed freedom
is the place where one person after another gets trapped.
When the foggy narcotic yields excessive hunger
for something other than Him,
there is a costly disconnect.
It imbues the worst spiritual paranoia: "Am I saved?"
Or worse yet: "I'm totally fine...right?"
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