Write more tomorrow.

A recurring theme in my life is trying to make sense of people, and my repeated failure to do so. This could simply be because I'm tackling something way too big for me, but it could be that I'm approaching it wrong.

Not that many people know, but I have kept a journal for years now. I stumbled upon an entry the other day that read:

"I'm not sure how it happened. But Everything changed tonight. Didn't win the iPod but this is just the beginning. I feel free. Write more tomorrow."

I did write tomorrow but it was largely irrelevant. The point I want to hone in on there is the first two sentences. Not sure how it happened: unsure of what it was about that night (my first slam and the first time I really started believing I was on the level of people in my current performance group, EROT) and unsure about my life after that point. Now I can't imagine it going any other way. It reminds me of this video (let's be real, you knew there'd be a video):





I like that the "write more tomorrow" sentiment applies for other people. This poem is so very relevant to where I am right now. Trying to find the biggest number I can think of, but certainly keeping in mind that no matter how big I can conceive, I am still capable of infinity. We all are.

Love.

I suppose the butterflies in my stomach
are yours now.
I'll give them to you
as soon as I binge on her photographs
purge until our smiles match
and they fly away, to resurrect in the eyes
of someone with a hope ever being that close to her.
Butterflies play in the sunflower's of royal gardens.
I'm meant for moths but they never live as long
and they hurt coming up but I smiled all the way through.
There is nothing logical about love.
It stutters when you look her in the face,
when she chats with you on Facebook about the guy she has eyes for.
I suppose this vocal tick
be
be
be
belongs to you now, too.

Chase

It is never too late
to learn how to run, new.
Broken legs be damned.

Dear God,

This is just to say thank you
for the $20 I found near the extra classes.
No one ever gives me money and the only time I can eat
is at free lunch.
Thanks for reminding me
even poor people
deserve 3 squares.

I wonder if you exist

in tonight

if double rainbows ever show up after

blizzards

or if the Aurora Borealis

is ever visible in Australia.

I wonder how many guitar strings

you'll have to pluck away like scabs

to find that all along

you

were

my

favorite

color.

I am nobody's Nobody.

There’s something about hiding

that reminds me

pain is what makes us human

and loneliness is what makes us monsters.

They say envy is powerful.
It will consume you if you let it
and where I'm from,
it rules like kings do:
that subtle control
everyone falls victim to
and that history will say
was constructed from fear
but really,
it's that want for what you can never have.

I wonder if You will remember me tomorrow.
Or if You will simply fade into forever
like "it will be OK" or "this too shall pass."
These cliches are not things to be hidden behind.
I have finally figured out who You love more.
Forgive me for the sin of not knowing your favorite color
or the dreams you had before your crucifixion.
I just didn't want to overstep my bounds.
How was I to know it would lead me to being forsaken?

Pretend to like me long enough
and You'll never be rid of me.
I should have known then what I know now:
if we were created in God's image,
then He ignores calls from broken friends
and makes up excuses not to see his kids, too.
But I just want to know what makes them so special.

NO! NO!
I will not go gently.
NO!
Not until You've answered me.
NO!
Not until you've noticed me.

I wonder if You'll remember me tomorrow.
I wonder how many days of one prayer short
and one miracle late it will take
but I know better than to think
it will change by the morning.
But in case you do read this
I guess I should give its proper end:
in your son's name I pray,

Amen.