I put on makeup today. Now, you're probably thinking, "big deal, so she put on makeup. She's a girl. That's what girls do." But this really is a big deal. It has been over a year since I put makeup on myself. No kidding.
I have let other girls give me makeovers a few times, but it was always one of those just-for-fun things where it was how we spent time together. For myself, I had a few reasons to stop wearing makeup. 1) I stink at applying it 2) I'm lazy and 3) I had a flawed self-image.

1. Mundane

the bleachy grit of
Comet!
scruffs away at the
blood-red chili stain in my
father’s kitchen sink;

the washcloth is oozing and
I can’t breathe through
my nose—I think I’m
allergic to bleach—my skin
is turning splotchy red and
tingles every time I move

and no matter how hard I scrub
this stupid stain isn’t coming out.

2. Changes

I.
all of the red brick neighborhoods
I once loved
now seem empty
absent
withdrawn

Author's Note: I wanted to celebrate Arthur and Damaris's engagement by writing a special poem for them. Arthur and Damaris, we may not know each other extremely well, but as fellow APer's, I consider you part of my extended family (and you both are my brother and sister in Christ!). I wish you both love, joy, and blessings, now and forever! This one is for you:

Sometimes the right things just fall into place,
and you find a love that fills up a space,
inside of your heart where you didn’t know,
that any more love could possibly go.

The fully loaded car was running and music was playing. Sunbeams reflected off of the windshield while the light danced around patches of grime left behind by grasshoppers and pesky birds.

"Let it go...let it GOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

I think Gretchen purposefully put a Disney soundtrack in before I picked up the kids. She knows how much I detest that stuff.

Greg waived at his sister in the rearview mirror and tried to tell himself that she wasn't smirking at him.

"Prankster."

"What'd you say, Uncle Greg?"

Sometimes I ponder and I wonder why
A woman who's blessed tears up to cry
And then I remember her eyes so gentle
Feeling so deeply she loves not a little

Her life is a beautiful poem
Her heart is intricately woven
Her God-given life a sacrifice of love;
Her soul made of beauty given from above

Remember her tear; needed; 'tis true
It's a privilege if shared with you
Her sorrows are all yours now, as are her joys
Her heart is in your hands, your love it employs

Failure. That's my name. I have always been, and always will be, a failure. There is no changing that.
When I was a kid I failed at school. I failed at dance class. I failed to do my chores. I failed as a sister, I failed as a daughter, but the biggest failure of all was my failure as a Christian.

I pulled into the drive and found a spot to park my car. I took the key out of the ignition and put it in my purse. I looked at my hands, palms up. They were shaking and sweating like crazy. I clenched them into fists to steady them and gritted my teeth.
"You can do this," I whispered to myself. "It'll be better this way."

"The end is the eternal beginning for some, and for others it is yet the eternal ending."
My grandad used to say that to my Daddy back when I was a little kid, and then he would take out his Bible and read from it. My daddy always got mad and left, dragging me along to the truck. Momma always cried when he did that, and looked back at grandad as if to say she was sorry for the mean things daddy said. So that's why we didn't visit Grandad and Gramma very often.

Once upon a time there was a princess. Her name was the symbol of melodic and mystical winds from across the lands of the kingdom. Her mother died when she was five or six and she was left to reign with her father, Eviscus. Eviscus was a king of dark complexion and deep black eyes. Rainne (the princess) was of opposite appearance with warm greyish blue eyes and fawn colored hair. She was a meek and quiet maiden of light, and even in her dark confinement she was a pool of sparkling light in itself.

Red yellow orange brown and gray;
These are not the colors of May.
Leaves and pine needles on trees so tall,
Yes, these are colors of the melting fall.
Some will say it looks dreary and dead.
They wish for cheerier seasons ahead.
This season of colors so serious and warm
Holds promise of tranquility after the storm.
A symbol of death in beauty falling down;
In piles gathered making a crown.
Death to self given for life from above:
So much less than we give for His love.
Beauty for ashes and joy on the 'morrow;