Light-a poem

My brokenness in parts

Is spread across this mattress,

It is hidden in the corners

Of this empty house and

I am breathing very slowly:

One is in and two is out;

I’m exhaling all the poison

And I’m inhaling the light.

As I sit, curled up in bed,

Time begins its slow progress.

I can hear it in my head,

I can see it in the darkness.

A shining outside the window,

From a rupture in the sky,

Makes the dust sparkle like silver

And it colours me in light.

Past beyond the midnight hour,

I’m now past the aching,

And I open like a flower,

I’m reborn in a new morning.

At the dawn of my tomorrows,

I’ll still bloom even despite

Of the bitterness of sorrow

And I’ll grow into the light.


What people are looking for, have been looking for since forever, is a way to cope with everyday life. The books, the music, the films, creativity and deeper thought- it’s just a bunch of people trying to make sense of the simplest of things: the moments. The minutes within the hour, within the day that’s good or bad, within the week that’s either amazing or awful, within the month that’s buried deep or on a constant rewind, within the year that you wish you could change, re-live or never have experienced. Because, at the end, whether you believe you’ve had it good or bad it doesn’t t really matter, when you are in this moment, right here,and you don’t really know what to do with yourself.


Slowly but suddenly, I felt a part of me breaking away, breaking free of the tendons that held it in place, and separating itself from my body. Not completely; it was still attached but, in a beautiful way, it was also free.

A part of me-a single, brave part of me-was blooming. My first petal unfolding.

I panicked.

“What are you doing?” I cried out. “Can’t you see where we are? Can’t you feel the dryness of the desert? The hopelessness of this unending wilderness?”

But it kept blooming.

This little piece of faith untangled itself from my doubt and started growing, becoming. 

Sure, I was afraid…but I had to learn that there is no fear in Love; I had to learn that the blooming takes place in the desert, not after it.

Vulnerability-a poem 


I’m showing skin 

That can be wounded,

Veins that can be drained 

Of blood.

I’m shedding tears 

That can be seen,

Insecurities that can be 


I’m barring bruises 

That are still hurting,

Wounds that can be 



I’m sharing thoughts 

That can be frightening,

Dreams that can be


I’m sharing hopes

I don’t believe in,

 Sometimes Faith I do not 


I speak of fears

That have invaded

Anxieties that make me



This is what I give you

When I bare all that I am.

I’m vulnerable,

Not fragile! 

But through his grace

By faith 

I stand.

This side of my skin

This side of my skin 

Is where I begin

And it’s porcelain glow 

Reflects my own soul 

This side of my skin

The same I’ve been in

For far too long

To believe I don’t belong

This side of my skin

Fears have moved in

Full of faces of ghosts 

Which I once was 

This side of my skin

That’s hidden within

I’ll bury it deep 

And just let it sleep

This side of my skin

Is only a dream

With the dawn it will go

And I will be whole 

This side of my skin

Is only where I begin 

But in time I will grow

Let this dead skin go…