Stay and lie

I'm so tired of being called beautiful and amazing and talented.  Why would you leave me then?  Please spare me the thought of you believing I'm something special.  Instead be honest with yourself and me.  Don't just say things to make me stay or to win the girl.  Don't leave me and come back.  If I wasn't enough for you to stay, then I'm not enough for you to come back. Then you change your mind.   You want me now.  And I'm still a mess, trying to pick myself up.  It's not the same.  I didn't make it hard, you just needed to stay.  Everything you said about how great and perfect I was means nothing now.  This could have been special and real. You decided to leave me.

 I was all broken then, now I'm better.  I can tell I wasn't seeing you clearly.  I was dreaming of a happy ending.  Reality comes seeping in, as it always does.  My eyes are kept open.  I'm no longer in a dream.  Wide awake, I can see you clearly now.  I'm trying to scrape off the images of us. You know when you held onto me so gently that letting go of me was simple.  You barely left a fingerprint. What a skill you have of stringing me along.  It seems your goal was to never make me feel satisfied and to not let me leave. You did just enough to keep me in the middle. Oh no, did you get off balance? Did the scale tip too far? If you ever could give a straight answer maybe I'd ask you. All I know is I'm here writing down all this, and you are in bed probably distanced from the memories of me, the girl you called perfect and amazing and talented. The same girl you left and came back for. I'm still the same the girl, maybe just a little better off. You didn't stay, neither did I. 

Live nursing

In nursing school I find that the things I love are similar to things that my class mates love. Academically we are in the same boat. We have the same clinical experience for the most part. Personality wise we are very different. I bring some good aspects to the table. I think it has little to do with skill and technique as a new nurse. It's more than that. It's how you look at a human being and a sick human being at that. How you respond. What's your initial reaction? What's in your heart about the sick? Do you blame it on lifestyle or ignorance? How can you, as a person, empathize with this person in front of you? I think I've realized that I can do that. I may not always get the nursing diagnosis right, but I genuinely care for that person.

One of the many things I love about nursing is we get to see all types of people. Disease doesn't discriminate. In other jobs I've worked at you see the same type of person or family. As nurses we get to see society, and not just a part. Yes we may see more of one part due to risk factors and such, but we take the drape down and see people, of all types, vulnerable in similar situations. We get to see humanity at the core. And I hope we treat everyone the same. 

I am Saul

I'm trying to repent. I am Saul with the Amalekites. I have disobeyed God. I put romantic love over his commands. "For rebellion is like the sin divination and arrogance like the evil of idolatry." I have rebelled against God. I said to Him, I will date a non-Christian.  I tried to rationalize and bargain. God doesn't want my sacrifices and bargains, He just wants me to follow his commands. It's true, He still loves me.  It's true that I could never measure up to deserve to be His daughter. Everything may be permissible, but not everything is beneficial. I didn't do any good as I disobeyed God. Now I am hurt. How blessed I am to be here with God. My whole life He has been rescuing me, bringing me back to Himself. How can I possibly be so lucky? 

Mailboxes

So it's really over this time. There's not much to say.  There's nothing to figure out.  The envelope is sealed.  I dropped you off into the mailbox and walked away.  You'll sit there with all the other mail I've given up.  You'll be about your life.  All I'll have of you are the memories that are tucked and contained in the confines of an envelope.  There are things I'll miss. There are things I'll regret and lose sleep over.  Ill wonder how your sleeping and if you've been happy.  I'll close my eyes and imagine your face.  But I'll end each thought with how you care more about yourself than me and how your words didn't have meaning.  I'll remember how I felt when you'd leave me and never look back.  When relationships end I feel my chest tighten and I wonder if I could feel as strongly for anyone else.  I feel jealous of all the other girls that will be with you.   I worry about how this disappointment will affect future relationships.  You may forget about me.  You might see me and feel nothing.  I'll have to accept that, and accept that for whatever reason you didn't want me.  I will have to adjust once again, setting my mind on myself.  I'll be trying to sort through all the things I was probably running from when I met you.  Here again I am alone.  I'm just walking, no mail in my hand, no hand to hold.

some good things in a sea of mistakes

Leanne, I like you because you're an honest, genuine person. You're smart, beautiful, hilarious, talented, and just pretty much all around amazing. 

Mmk Nate so, I like you because you use your words sparingly.  It makes me feel important to hear from you. You have very pretty eyes. I like your frame and how I can see your ribs. And your small hands. You're a protector and you value honor.  You are different. And you're generally okay with that.  I'm not looking for the perfect guy or someone who has it all together.  I like that you don't listen to stupid music.  I feel like I can be myself around you. 

Leanne, your face you make when your confused is cute as hell. I like hearing all your facts that you say when I do something dumb or just randomly, even though I don't always listen to that advice. 

dirty hands

Do you realize the wonderful things in front of you right now?  The beauty of your environment? The wonderful company in your presence? Do you realize that I am here?  I look at you and I see something so wonderful.  I feel your hands and wonder all the things they've touched.  I envision them dancing along my body and through my unruly hair.  How do you see your hands?  Do you see them with blood and sickness? You can wipe them clean on my skin.  I'll take your sin and regret, and we'll let it go together.  We can rinse ourselves clean.  Don't be afraid to touch me.  I'm not scared of the things you've done or thought.
You are not who you were.  I see you for what you are.  The things you dwell in are not where your physical body is.  But your mind is soaking in the regrets and things of your past.  I watch as this happens.  I stand by your body, but I don't fit in your already full mind.  You forget easily about my presence.  All your empty promises, resting in my hands.  I am tense.  I wait there staring at your shell of a body.  You aren't really here with me.  I'll touch you just to see if I can startle you back to life.  I fail again.  I feel inadequate.  I wonder what I can do better to meet your needs.
We are together; I get as close to you as possible, hoping that you can feel my warmth and want to let me in.  When I lay beside you I can't rest, again I am tense.  You sleep so easily.  You turn so easily away from me.  I watch as you pull away from me and curl up into yourself.  You do this unconsciously and consciously.  I reach for you, and you flinch at my touch.  I get out of bed.  You don't miss my warmth or touch; you don't budge.  I go for a walk and clench my hands around my arms.  I convince myself that you want me around.  I crawl back into bed trying to form my body around yours.  I hardly fit, but I manage a few hours of uncomfortable sleep.  I just want you to sleep well and to know that I care for you.  That someone cares.
We've seen some of the same things.  I don't tell you though.  I still not sure why.  You tell me of your depression.  I just listen.  You need someone to hear you.  I don't respond, because I relate so much.  I've learned to love the parts of me that get so sad.  They contrast well with my happiness.  I like to think that those who feel great sadness can also feel great happiness in the same way.  I used to want to die, to drive my car off the road or jump of that building.  I used to get close to the edge.  I would surprise myself with how little the closeness of death scared me.  I was numb.  I remember feeling so dirty and gross inside that I didn't bother actually caring about how I looked on the outside.  Life was exhausting, food wasn't enjoyable, I didn't want to ruin my friends time so I hid in bed.  I would cry.  My neighbors could hear me, they knock on the door.  I didn't want to answer because I didn't want to lie.  I was tired of saying I'm okay.  Yeah, I know depression.  I know that part of you.  But I didn't tell you that I did.
I want so badly for you to talk to me; to tell me of your day and the dreams you had last night.  Were they bad?  Could you sleep?  But more than that, I wanted you to want to tell me.  When you tell me things I feel important because you don't say much to anyone else.  I feel special hearing stories from your past.  I am not sure if I am comfortable enough to tell you mine.  I've never told anyone.  I am silent.  I think maybe you are too full of your own problems to fit mine in.  I am easily penetrated with others problems.  But you don't have any more room.  I've learned to live happily with all my baggage, I don't know if I'll tell anyone all of it.
I remember how nervous I was when you asked me to be your girlfriend.  I was right to be nervous.  I can see that now.  I know that relationships are hard, that they hurt, that I am scared.  My hands trembled then, and they tremble now I as put it all on paper. The sky was beautiful then and it still is now.  Nothing changes with my pain, you certainly don't change with my pain.
Things got bad.  My insecurities are surfacing.  I just blurt out all my fears.  You keep looking away from me.  I feel so ugly when you turn your head, I am not worth looking at.  I can tell you are angry, you lie and say you aren't.  I hate myself for making you angry, but I can't stop myself.  I want so badly to make things to work.  I want solutions.  Once the words are out, I regret it.  You were with me then, now you're gone.   Everything I said about school, and stress, and breaking down.  All I wanted to hear from you is I want to be with you.  If you need me at school, I'll be there.  You say nothing close.  I feel sick to my stomach.  The tears keep falling.
From then on, I knew.  You stop talking to me.  I feel sick whenever you are around.  I can feel the oncoming pain of the words you will say to me.   You work inches away, but I might as well be three hours away at school.  I have to struggle to hold back the tears.
You keep me waiting, I grow eager to hear what I did wrong.  I want so badly to fix the problem.  I just want to care for you.  I wish I could be what you want.  I try to convince myself that you still want me.  But deep down I know.  I finally just show up at your house.  I sit outside till you sister lets me in.  Its the last time I'll be in bed with you.  I know it.  The way you look at me has changed. I feel small and annoying to you.  I wish I could cover up my face.  You say you want to be with me, but everything else you say proves that wrong.  I take in all in.  I pace my words so I don't fall apart in front of you.  Everything is stirring up inside.  You sit up in bed.  Its over now, you want to talk about how it will be when it's over.  I feel sick.  I realize you don't want me, the dreaded truth is knocking on my door step.  I hate this feeling.  I get up.  I want to run away from it all.  I hate this.  I want to get out of that house and out of your disapproving looks.  All you want is to not feel guilty. I can't comfort you.  I feel like shit.
I'm in my car and you followed me there. You want me to make you feel better, but I can't to that.  You never said the words "I want to break up".  You ask why I am so upset.  You try to make me feel stupid for being sad.  I realize that you won't be sad over me.  I start to really feel the nausea.  How could I mean so little? Was everything a lie?   I stop.  I realize that I like me better in this situation.  All I want to do is love people.  I care deeply for others.  I love people. I know this world is a shit hole of fucked up people.  But it's home to us.  And I want to help others.  I want their home to be good.  I like that I feel sad in the moment.  Because, you know what, I might be hurt more often, but one day I am going to love people so well.

Jesse

You're windy and proper, and messy and neat.  You've got a quiet smirk, but your face is so damn loud.  You tower over me, but I've got you beat with words.  I'd much rather hear yours though.
You're better at watching than I am, but I like when you're watching me.
Just go ahead and stare into the distance, I'll memorize your profile.  You can cross your legs, and I'll fold mine.
My toes will brush against you, you'll notice but won't move.  The slit of my skirt gets higher and higher, but you keep your eyes on my face.  I'm not drunk anymore, I probably never was, but I didn't want to take you home.  Blessings come with courthouse benches.  There's not enough justice in the world, I feel at peace at your side.
You make sure I'm not taken by some other guy, in a coy way.  No, there isn't a man in the trashcan facing us.  I laugh because there no way I'd be with you if that was the case.  The temptation is real.
I can talk about nothing forever, random thoughts are never scarce.  I'll reposition; so when you look at me you'll see me wholly.  My feet rest in your lap, how nice, for me at least.  Not sure why my shoes are ten feet away, but I'm sure you'll fetch them.  I'll turn my head real quick, you'll catch me off guard.  You're suddenly so much closer, full tilt I catch up.  No objections from me, you could kiss me till the sun came up and then even after that.  I make sure my hands wrap around you so you can't escape me.  You slow me down and kiss me gently with your hand on my chin, I feel small but I like it. It's not a game, but you win.  Your hands on my thighs,  I wish they were covering my skin.  It's chilly outside but you're making me hot.  I want to crawl on top of you, then I remember I'm modest, shit.  You kiss my neck, I can feel my veins pulsing, and adrenaline flooding.  I hope I am okay at kissing you, I feel like attractive people should be rewarded somehow.  People with good music taste should also be rewarded, and people who are adorable dancers should also be compensated for their efforts; I hope I succeed in this.  Keep kissing me, and we'll be on the same page.  I'll pull away to tease you, to see how far you'll come.  Each time I see you smile, my heart is warm.  Good things don't last forever.  I know you're leaving tomorrow, I know you live 15 hours away, but right now I feel on fire.
How long have we been there? I'm not keeping track. All the beer inside me is calling.  I'll leave your side for squatting purposes, check the cleavage, and toss the hair.  I'll come up from behind you, barefeet, skirt in hand.  Staring at your silhouette, damn, speechless.  I'll probably paint that sight one day.
Then we are on the steps, getting closer to the car, getting closer to sunrise, the birds are reminding us of the time.  You ask me if I am cold, you have little idea of how I'm incredibly warm I am in your presence.  We make our way to the car, I'm not ready to take you home yet.
It doesn't matter who starts the kissing this time, you already broke the bridge.  I'm smaller than you again, you tower over me.  Again, I like it.  I leverage my way on the ledge so our mouths are at similar heights.  I feel less small.  I push against my car, we're equal.  Our bodies are very close at this point, my hand runs down your chest.  I feel the buttons one at a time, I wonder what it would be like to unbutton them.  I remember I'm modest, and slow myself down, shit.  I held on to your every word before, now I'm holding on to your every move.
I like looking over at you as I drive.  You've entered my world, my car, my city, my music.  I wonder what it'd be like to be in your world.  What'd I'd give to be there you'll never know.  I imagine it briefly, it looks nice in your world.  Damn it, we're home.
The sun is on the rise.  We approach my apartment.  I hold the keys, so I open the door.  I can't do that yet, I don't want to take you home, give you up to the couch.  I turn, this is the last time to kiss you.  I've been so spoiled tonight.  You kiss me so well.  We have one more kissing spell.  Your hands resting at my waist, I try to take it all in, and feel it all.  The worst part of the night is ending there, on my doorstep.  You're worth every second.
Things change when inside, your dad on the couch, sister on the mattress, we take turns in the bathroom, I wash off the makeup on my face, and brush away your taste.  I take off my appealing clothes.  I look more like myself, I stare at myself in the mirror, I wonder what happens next.  I use your phone as a flashlight to salvage pillows and blankets and a sleeping bag from my room.  I debate, putting my number in your phone under a cheesy name like "hottest girl you've ever kissed", "the best dancer ever in the universe", I decide to leave the ball in your court.  I like sport metaphors.
I'm back in your presence.  I see you in the kitchen, you're so tall and handsome.  You like a model, its annoying, but I got to spend all night with you.  I try to feel honored somehow, I know I can't have you.  You try to take the floor, but I insist.  In an ideal world we both take the floor, but then I remember I am modest, shit.
You move your pillow so you can face me, I like looking at your face.  That same quiet smirk.  You have the blanket up to your chin.  You're are so adorable, I'm thinking about being under the covers with you, I turn to the left, to slow my imagination.  Bam, Mr. Rogers kills the mood. That's a lie, I'd make out with you in a heart beat.  But lets pretend, Mr. Rogers could kill our mood.  You're watching me again, I keep your attention with American Sign Language.  I start signing words like sleep and good night. Then, I tell you are handsome.  If I knew the signs for something like sexy, adorable, irresistible I'd use those too.
We are both tired.  I can see it in your eyes, why are we human? Why is sleep important?  I settle for reality.  I force myself to settle down.  I feel a little too high for the floor.  I watch Mr. Rogers until I dose off.  I usually look forward to dreaming, but in nights like these, I'd rather relive the night.

I am small

I cried on the way home from you. I'm empty, yet tears still are held in when I am with you. I step away and I begin to empty again.  There is so much more for me to discover about you.  But the wall between us is so high.  And I can't feel your affection through it, and I can't see how you feel about me.
It's at night that I think.  I look objectively at the day, and try to see life for what it really is, not just how I feel about it.  You hardly talked to me today.  I don't know how, but your life seems to wear you out.  I wonder if you want to know about me, how I am, or if you care about how fucked up my mind is.  I think, maybe tomorrow he will try to be with me, maybe make a special plan, or ask me about my childhood.  He doesn't.  I envision conversations in my head of me telling him these things.  I don't speak for fear of not being cared about. Then the tears.
I look at your silhouette. I want to touch you and feel your warmth, to rub my fingers over your thin frame.  I smile at your presence, blushing as I think of me staring at you.  You feel blank and cool towards me, fleeting from my touch.  I'd very much like to fall in love one day.  Whether it is with you I don't know; but if this is how love starts, I am very confused.
I need to tell you all these things.  But I am afraid I don't mean enough to you.  When I tell you these things you will surely leave me.  I don't know if I am ready for that.  But you aren't really here anyways, you won't see the aftermath because you don't see the mess thats right in front of you.
I've been convincing myself that my thoughts and insecurities are foolish.  I've rethought this, and I find that I am very much justified in my sadness over us. You'll say that you will call, you don't, you say you want to see me, you don't.  You don't come to me, I come to you with or without an invitation.
I wish I could be as close to you as your sadness or your exhaustion.  I don't think I will replace those things, or fit in between them.  I am small, but they are just too big.

Enabler

You are like a dog that is so happy to see me when I go into a room.  You wag your tail, whimper, and gladly let me pet you, but what you don't do is of great relevance.  You don't come find me, you don't come when I call your name, you are uninterested when I am laughing or crying.  Unless I come all the way to you, you are indifferent to my existence.

It is very unfortunate that I want to keep entering the room and giving you exactly what you want, to give you love that you do not reciprocate.  Pouring love on you like a waterfall, you like the river at the bottom, getting filled over and over, and me the waterfall giving and giving.  The question is who is to blame. 

I enable.  I give you no reason to pour into me, you will get what you want with no effort.  You take.  You find no reason to come find me when I call your name or when I cry.  

So what is it then?  Do I stop coming?  Will you miss me then?  Only time will tell.  This waterfall has run dry. 

Oh to wait on you.

Maybe I messed up. At this point I don't know. Too much time has passed for me to make a rational decision.  But, I realize that it is okay to mess it up, and it always has been.  I gave my emotions and words away.  At least now we are connected in some small way, a frail little string connects me to you.  That's all I have now, a scrawny thread with a message thats held in your hands.   I hope you can't feel my hands shaking, and I hope you can't see my cheeks change colors, and I hope you can't hear my heart racing.  If you did, you'd know how extremely strange I am, how nervous I get, and how much I have to learn.

You’re Beautiful by Phil Wickham

“I see You there hanging on a tree
You bled and then you died and then you rose again for me
Now You are sitting on Your heavenly throne
Soon we will be coming home
You’re beautiful”

~You’re Beautiful, Phil Wickham

Fogged Glass

There on the other side of the window
I'm no longer in control
All I can do is wait
You're there but you're much further than the day I met you
On the other side of the glass
Hands pressed tightly and fogged glass
Anxiously I still wait
You go about you're life
Three years have passed
I'll never know if I cross your mind
but you stay on mine

You look the same to me
Still so charming
Confident and happy
You may be a different person
But to me you are still the same
Still alive through it all
I've thought of you often through the years
It didn't matter if I was with someone else
I could never rid of the thought of us
Silly and strange but true
I'm waiting on a miracle

Your young memories are vivid
Especially the firsts
You were my first
The first to make me feel special
And to make me feel lovely
To say I am beautiful
And to care about me like a man should
Smart and confident
You looked at only me
Those blue eyes on mine
God you were handsome

Living out a song

You know those songs you hear that take you to a different time in your life.  You can close your eyes and see the exact place you were when the song connected what you heard and how you felt.  Somehow the words or the music is intertwined in your memories-- all tied together.  A few chords can trigger a tangent in your day.  Depending on which memory is evoked, it may be painful or happy or maybe you're not sure how you feel.

I have hundreds of these songs.  One in particular brings me back to summer nights in the Blue Ridge mountains.  Cool nights and soft breezes. My hair down and long, blowing in the wind.  It was just me looking up at the stars.  God, it was beautiful.  Some of my favorite moments include being alone, gazing at something beautiful and smiling.  Smiling because life can be so beautiful.  Smiling because I am overwhelmed at my luck in the world; that I am sitting and staring at something so amazing I couldn't fathom it's creation.  That night I was smiling at the trees, the stars, the sound of the wind, the the reflection of the moon on the lake, my toes on an old wooden bench, my long and cozy sweater. Makes me want to go back there and live it all again.  I can even feel my hope.  I had just finished my freshman year of college, so naive and innocent.  At that time I'd never been in a relationship with a boy, lived in an apartment, had a broken heart, or broke another's heart.  I remember thinking I could sit there forever staring at the creation of God.  I was young. I was happy.  I was living out a song.

Tattoo of a hopeless romantic.

Take a note. A note that was written to you on a first encounter with your future husband or possibly the last encounter before the phrase "I do". Tattoo it before your wedding day, and keep it hidden until you walk down the isle. He'll see it on you in his hand writing.  Wouldn't that be beautiful?  I'm saving notes.

I found this idea on tumblr.