Losing It

The sticks and twigs crawl out from the grass to follow my feet on a thin path of concrete.

The shadows of the bushes reach around the corners to grasp at me.

“What’s it like to lose your mind?”

No one’s ever asked. It’s obvious yet I think they fear it because insensitivity creeps near it. Truthfully, I want to hear it.

The chaos behind the carefully crafted appearance is worth looking into.

There’s a man I know from another realm. A dimension that runs parallel. He slaughtered my mother in a dream. In my waking hours he’s stalking me.

Static figures that dart from street lamps to the spindly trees. Pale faced entities that blankly stare. Gazing at me. Wandering closer and closer.

Shake me by the shoulders. I am not okay.

“What’s it like to lose your mind?”

It’s like a slow decay. Ask me one more time.

It’s beauty in disarray.

Mind and Mouth

Do the words you speak and the thoughts you think always match? I find my foot in my mouth more often than I’d like to admit. I find that my current speech sometimes reflects my thoughts of the past. Frankly, it infuriates me. What I deeply desire is to abandon the “old me”. Unfortunately remnants are stuck to the inner walls of my mind like a foul slime that I can’t scrape away. It wreaks and it eats at the purity by which I wish to be defined. Yet there’s lies wrapped up like a tight bow, looking pretty, but impossible to unwind. That’s where I find myself sometimes.

Although, I’m reminded of the deception that evil brings. Convincing me I must communicate in a way that is contradictory to what I believe. Thankfully, there’s abundant life in the promises of Christ. Evil has no power over me. I do not have to live in my pitiful history. I was gifted, I am chosen, there is eternity in the vow of my Creator. The rejected and the broken get to live in peace beneath His wing. My Maker is a poet because He spoke breath into me.

This breath I have is His. May He use it for His kingdom. I will remember my sin no more and rejoice when I see Him. The words I speak are not for reminiscing on squalor but to glorify Jesus. Does your mind match your mouth? When it doesn’t what’s the reason? Evil will invade just remember it’s growing season. May you bear good fruit and remember the the Son that gave you freedom.

Jazz

Nothing used to make me angrier than a jazz buff. Now I understand that everyone has something to prove. If you must, shout aloud. Not to say I’m any kinds of comfortable around pretentiousness. Particular people allow themselves that kind of behavior. Though it’s irritating, I recognize that abundant knowledge feels good. This could insinuate I’ve felt it. I haven’t. I feel dull and naive. That’s all it is though, feelings. I heard so many times in therapy that feelings aren’t facts. They aren’t transferable into logic or reality but they know how to run away with me. Somedays, I want to run away with them. When I do, I write and when I write I smile. My stomach feels full, I feel satisfied beyond logic or reality. This is a good feeling. I’d imagine being richly knowledgeable feels similar. So go ahead, jazz buffs, let your feelings run away with you. I’ll be penciling them down as you speak.