Is Past to Blame?

Tell me, how am I supposed to feel

When all I get are crazy things to hear

my childhood was full of fights and nights of tears

I grew up shy with no words to ever say

I’ve never had no friends and today it’s still the same.

And now I’m always afraid of what move to make.

I feel like I’m stuck- I’ve lost from the beginning

Maybe it’s fate, or maybe I’m sinning.

I was never free, despite what it appears to be

But I’ve held onto faith and smile for hope.

I know I’m alone, but from above there’s a rope

for me to climb up, and let all else go-

ignore what’s happening, and keep writing

my list of wishes,

like how I wish someone would do the dishes-

I still struggle to live as life should be

But maybe one day, I’ll live as me

With a tough past, but free of grief.

and maybe I’ll finally write

when I’m not sad, but happy.

 

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Garden by the wishing well

Garden by the wishing well

Take these distilled moments and let it be spilt into a wishing well. 
bc it’s meant to be spent
And lost
Let love be treasured
there’s no expiration
create a new default
Where faults are now fertile ground
For gold dafodils to sprout
Weave a new basket to pick away all doubt
there is no rush
There is no hurry
whisper all your fears away
with the soft glow of late bloom
let it consume the grief away
let it lash the confusion with lush lavender
be rained upon with cream rose petals
that reflect good memories from the past

This is your garden and that is your well.
so flourish
And let trickle the days you fell

Jug of Milk

Adjacent vulnerability welling up my throat.

I saw in a full  clear jug of milk

fresh grass pile up and float

It was the mourning of my past

and my heart’s ill hope

that something for his future might just slope

This was the fresh grass, like a fresh cut

that polluted my jug

for my mourning and my cut would always rise up fresh

and ruin my morning drink

my afternoon drink

and my evening drink

and my night drink

to the point- that I would not think.

the sadness in my desires

for wholesome love to light my fires

spoiled my every drink

depriving me of pure happiness

and the pure willingness

to focus on God

thus leaving me flawed

 

Just like the grass in my milk