Poem for today:
Intimacy. Whatever that means. Clinging to teddy bears hoping that my love brings them to life. Flipping through a gold leaf king James, to cut me with a knife. Talking at the stars, and digging in the dirt. Praying that you’re there, that you’ll bind up all my heart.
But I haven’t heard you. Or seen you. Or felt you.
Remember when I was all crazy evangelical? Waving my hands and praying like Daniel? And I was a babe at the front bouncing at the altar, wanting you to fill me up, like a psalter. Saying “here I am, Lord send me!” Giving you my everything- all of me.
And sure I fucked up every now and again, and sometimes I prayed in tongues, and sometimes sinned with another’s skin
Twisting on top of me or maybe in an ally way, just to feel love. Never found it in the sheets. Can’t find it in the deep. I prayed you’d forgive me. I think you do- I know you do. I’m righteous-or at least I am to the least of these- and yes, Martin Luther and the prophet Isaiah- so I realized my works and righteousness are just swaying
Tampons. Nasty, used, bloody and unclean.
But I feel like I’m alone and unmedicated and obscene.
And can any more pain be poured out this year? Is this the shit that stirs my faith and draws me near? I don’t even know where you are.
Intimacy. Or am I all alone. I can’t be close to anyone, but an audience at turner field or maybe the Georgia Dome. I can preach all day long the masses. But I miss hearing your voice. How bout a burning bush? Or some holy Jack asses? Maybe in the still quiet voice.
And sure sabbatical, self care, set sOme boundaries, Damn.But I got bills to pay and there’s a pain in my heart. Don’t know if I should stand or sit or completely fall apart.
There’s no time for the mental ward, so you better come through. Elohim, Yahweh, Adonai, Jesus- I don’t know who.
It’s true I have loved you since I can ever recall. And you said that you’d be there whenever I fall.
But like Jeremiah, I think you might be a trickster.
Cause this shit ain’t easy- and my skin isn’t any thicker.
Yet, I recall your deeds of old. And practice cognitive behavioral therapy. A little praise in my thoughts and LECTIO and maybe some apothecary. I will retrain my mind on all that’s good and sit to contemplate.
I will say I am the beloved and that’s gotta be enough,
And while I can’t feel it or see signs or a white dove,
Despite all this bullshit
God is Love.