I’m not a perfect person.
You know that, but I thought I’d
tell you what it’s like to be
the girl I am.
And yet, I really do not want
to tell you everything because
I am not who you think
I am—
that's just the way
I am.
And right now, I am
struggling with telling you
what’s most important, yet
I’m really dying to tell you
all about myself.
And now, I think that
I will stop
with pen and ink this
scratching on my
paper, for I do not want to
bore you any longer.

Publishing a poetry book and chose this poem to be in it! Wish me luck, friends! :")

BUT NOW
THE SKIES
ARE CALLING
AND THE BROKEN
SOULS
ARE FALLING
THERE'S NO
BRIDGE; A
GAP, A
HOLE
BENEATH YOUR
FEET
BENEATH THE
MOON

AND DEAREST
NOW
WE JUST FEEL
LOSTER
AND CHILD, NOW
THERE'S HEARTS
TO FOSTER
WE'RE ALL
FALLING
TO THE MOON
AND WE ARE
SWALLOWED
BY THE STARS

I want them to know
But how can I tell them?
My heart is full
But my mouth stumbles
I cannot say what is deepest in my heart.
Father, help me!
I am weak,
Unable,
Unfit to do the work before me.
Fill me, Father,
Show me your words
That what I say
Will not be from
Me
But from
You.
You do not stumble…
Your will is always done.
What else can I say?
You are good,
Lord.
Let your will be done.

The world is made up of much more than brave heroes and spineless fools. Every person in every land, of every color, of every psyche - cold or hot, black or white, sad or glad, good or ill - are part of a great story; a rolling, thundering epic, starring nameless faces and every soul who has ever inhaled even a single breath. Invisible people you'll never meet, forgotten by time, stolen away in a gust of wind just outside of your temporal reach.

Dear Levi-
Are you okay? I know you ask this of me almost every time we see each other. I guess I should ask you every now and again. I’m not the only one in the world with a hard life, and there are times that you’re not the strong one. I’ve depended on you for so long I never thought that, maybe, you can depend on me.

“Hello?”
“Hey, Levi. It’s Viki.”
I liked hearing her voice. I smiled when I heard the way she intoned her name to me. She made herself sound like sunshine.
“Hey. Did you get home all right?” NYEP ended with the last class of today, and I just got home. I hung up the keys in the mudroom and my jacket. I settled my phone in between my shoulder and my cheek as I tossed off my shoes.
“Yes, I just got home. Thanks, you’re so sweet. I called because I wanted to tell you I had so much fun tonight.”

A golden beam of light fell across the mottled edge of the washtub. Dirty water lay stagnant within, milky bubbles dotting its murky glass.

“Have you done with the potatoes, Mary?”

Helna jabbed the younger girl with a padded elbow. Mary shrugged.

“Oh Helna, why do some people get all the goodness in life and others only soapsuds?” she asked the older slave woman. Helna’s thick hair bloomed in a wreath around her face, like a lion’s mane, as she ran a callused hand through it.

I recently picked up an English translation of the Quran. I’ve heard lots of mixed messages on how Christianity and Islam relate. I’ve heard that Allah is a monster who calls his followers to sacrificial jihad against infidels (including Christians). I’ve heard that Mohammed was a prophet after the pattern of Abraham, Moses, and Jesus and simply extends the tradition of the People of the Book. I’ve heard that Islam is peaceful, that it’s extreme, that Mohammed was a pedophile, that he was a hero, that the Quran teaches compassion, and that the Quran teaches hatred.

Publishing a poetry book and chose this poem to be in it! Wish me luck, friends! :")