poetry

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

His Two Day Trip

How silly am I to think
That just because I meet an adventurous boy
Who is fond of my dirty hair
And who likes to test his lung capacity
In the oceans in my eyes
That he would be full of wanderlust
to freefall into the caverns of my heart
and seek the rubies that hide there
Waiting to be found.
When instead all he lusts for
Are the flowers growing on my lips
And the trails through the hills
my body makes when I lie down.
To him I’m just a place, not an adventure to take

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

Simultaneously

I bit off flower petals
And stood at the shore of the ocean
Beating against my chest
“Am I missed?
Can you hear me in this wilderness?”

Desperate for just one kiss
Of hallelujah
From a perfect pair of broken lips
That understands the ebb and flow of life:
The celebration that follows consumption
With that first breath of air

Simply because it’s a kiss that understands
Supernovas in their climax of light,
Simultaneously exploding,
Ultimately dying
The paradox of a man
Pleading with His final breath
For those who shouted “crucify!”

It’s a kiss that sees me hungry for life at the ocean’s edge
Beating against my chest
Entrenched in the hellish mysteries of wilderness
Lands on my forehead and whispers tenderly
“I’ve been through this.”

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

Bread

I have this hunger pain whose growls drown out the people trying to feed me

They may as well crucify themselves next to Christ

Because I can’t hear Him either

When He’s begging for my life

“Father, forgive her for she knows not what she has done.

This disbelief came upon her like an ulcer

Layered in worry and stress.

Now here she is, chewing on her own hand

Much easier to eat than this two thousand year old piece of bread

Loosening her belt as a glutton

Yet tightening the noose around her neck.”

It’s taken me too long to see

That I’m feeding this hunger that’s eating me from the inside out

With doubt in the only One who can satisfy me.

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

Fuck Thank You

I suppose I should be thankful
That you taught me
To swallow my ‘no, thank you’s”
How to make walking shame look dignified in the rain
at 3am
That the measly fabric between my crotch and your finger is durable enough
To not take things ‘too far’

Because it taught me to see that
A man who loves me
Will choose to see me
As a humble Nazarene man
Hanging on a cross
Exchanging His own oxygen for your
Heavy breathing
When you grope me
Lying on your futon

So, thank you
For teaching me
That I’m not worth being seen.

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

Heaven is Here

My daughter, my son
there will come a day
when the devil makes
a bed for you
at the bottom of the ocean
and you will contemplate
sinking beneath the waves
and letting their rhythmic motion
sing you to sleep
like the song of the siren
But I tell you now,
Make sure you have a brother
or a sister nearby
Who sees you descending
Reaches in with a steady hand
pulling you out.
Loving you enough
to point to the lighthouse
and say “my friend,
over there
is solid ground.”

My daughter, my son
I promise it will be easier to run
But when someone invites you in
Listen to psalm 46:10.
Sit.
Be still.
For an image bearer of God
Is with you,
And they deserve the right to use
more than the words
“good” “okay” or “fine”
to describe their condition.

The fear of the Lord
is the beginning of wisdom,
So how can we love like Him
if you don’t even know them?
Them
Each other
My brother
Your sister
Our neighbor

For we are all houses built from the Carpenter’s hands
The gospel is offensive
so we might as well
throw open our doors and start calling people in
Because we remain calloused to the truth of grace and forgiveness
until we ourselves confess our sins.
But don’t worry
Didn’t you hear?
Perfect love casts out fear,
So even if you’re undergoing renovations
or you have a cracked foundation
Fixtures are redeemed with more than one pair of hands,
so humble yourself
and let someone help you stand.

My daughter, my son
You will want someone to dance with
When celebrations come
When victories are won
When the first breath rises in the lungs
of a dead man’s chest.
When heaven breaks open
and leans forward for a kiss

In the beginning there was
Father
Spirit
Son
Three-in-one.
Even then, God
knew He needed community too.
My daughter, my son
You cry for heaven to come,
But did you know, it’s already here?

The gates don’t just squeak,
They scream
wide open
In the sorrow of a soul
Grieving alone

And those streets of gold
are paved beneath the feet
of strangers you have met to meet

And you can hear the angels’ chorus ring
when the church unites together and sings
“holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty
who was and is
and is to come”

Yes, believe it or not,
Heaven is here.
And we have the choice
Between isolation in hell,
Married to ourselves,
Needing not anyone else
Or saying yes to death
To self
Each morning,
By loving someone else,
For who in heaven thinks of himself?

My church,
Heaven is here.

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

Untitled

To be honest, I don’t know where to begin
But how could I when all I’ve known is the end?

The end of reality’s eclipse when my mother tasted the force of my father’s fist
The end of my finger when it crawled down my throat when I went to the bathroom alone.
The end of the blade that I drug across my waist
again and again in an attempt to breathe
in the waves I was drowning in.
Or the end of Your light,

Yes, I remember vividly that tangible darkness that covered me four hundred and sixty eight long nights
And I can’t help but cringe whenever it blinds me from time to time again.

You see, all I’ve known is the end
Like a patient waiting to die
Doctor, doctor! Do you hear my cry?
Because this incision looks a little too wide

As He pulls out
Corrupted lungs,
from years of inhaling death
and exhaling hopelessness
a sunken stomach
rotting from the inside out
starved of bread
A broken heart,
held and torn by the hands of men who’s love
was lust dressed in sheepskin
and an old pair of blind eyes
that have forgotten what light even looks like

“For my good,” He says,
as He pulls out my whole identity

I begin to weep,

Do you not see how much this hurts me?
I fight
I kick
I scream
God, don’t take away my familiarity

after years of living in a broken body
sitting in a tub of medicine burns
and being scrubbed clean hurts even worse
and as I’m laid down beneath the surface,
I  believe wholeheartedly that this is it:
my God is just another one deserting me.
so I close my eyes
hold my breath
let myself sink
and I fall

only to find myself in His arms
pulling me out,
I feel a heart beat in my chest

All of a sudden I can breathe again!
he wraps me in a robe of righteousness
he sprinkles me with oils of joy and gladness
and He replaces my old with His new

It’s not until He restores my sight
That I see my blood flowing from the holes
in His hands
And I realize how much more this has hurt Him.
Yet He looks down at me
with tears in his eyes and says
“all because I love you enough to not let you stay that way,
my child, you’ve been set free.”
Now He gives me a new beginning every morning
And I never have to know an end again

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

There are some mornings

I stand in my closet

And weep

Simply because I can’t fathom

You chose me

When I can’t even seem to choose

What shoes to wear

To protect my feet from

The dust

That will be me someday

That was me that day

The day You said yes.

Yes!

Even then

When I was sin

You saw me sitting at Your table

Gnawing the flesh off dry bones

Desperate for even the marrow-

Anything to make my own life grow.

You saw me then

Passed the bread

And said

“Here, take this.”

So I took it in my blood stained hands

Believing that I would never be hungry again.

When I find myself on these mornings

Weeping in my closet

I can’t help but ask myself

Why would I ever choose

To put on these shoes

And walk away from the aisle

And Your “I do.”

Even though

I do,

Choosing instead

To crawl to the street corner

And beg for bread.

~ kwyatt1247 ~ Leave a comment

Bloom

It’ll be one year on the eighteenth
Since I’ve painted the roses red
And although I no longer want to die
A garden of scars remains on my side
Demanding attention
Screaming for remembrance
“You can always frolic through these flowers again!”
And I can’t always hear Jesus
When He’s hanging on the cross
Begging for my life-
For me
The one who shouted “crucify!”

So how do you tell someone
About the moments of doubt
The roars; the beating fists,
The silence when apathy hits
The “God, how could you do this?
How could you let something like this exist?”
How do you tell someone
About the moments you think
It’d be easier to eat the feast of the king
Than choke down
An old piece of bread
Every morning?

You take a deep breath and
Be honest.
Tell the ones who understand
What it means to wander
Through the wilderness
Unbind your vessels from the vines
And let the overflow of your heart
Fall from your mouth
Bringing rain to your drought-
Kneel before the flowers that bloom
Letting them train you in the art of opening up
And if the ones you trust
Offer to carry your load
Release your death grip
My child, just let go.
For it’s not good for man to be alone.

Or when you get the feeling
His handprints are branded into your skin-
And I say when
Because sin likes to remind us
Of where we’ve been-
Let the burn of iron to flesh
Provoke you to confess-
Tell your friends!
Undress, and let them doctor your wounds
The best they can,
Washing your raw and broken body
With the blood of the Lamb
Give your pores time to soak it in
Don’t try to exist with broken limbs
Healing isn’t something that just happens-
My love, you must chase after it.

So I’m already preparing myself
For the conversation
I will have with you,
On a rainy Sunday night.
Standing at the sink
Washing plates,
My hands will shake
And the plate
Will fall,
Existing to inevitably break.

I’ll pick it up
Only for the broken piece
To bring peace
To my brokenness
When it meets my hand:
A rose painted red.

I’ll turn to tell you
“I think I’m getting bad again”
But I hold my breath
For the tears in your eyes
Tell me you heard my
Blooming days ago
When the buds started to show

You’ll pull me in,
A florist with gentle hands
Naming me Fearless

Because I didn’t hold it in