For The One Who Birthed Me. (excerpt)

I used to pick fights with
the parts of myself that
seemed to resemble you.

The idea of me that lived up
to your impossible expectations
and the lies I told so often,
they eventually became true.

The difficulty I have now comes
riddled with self doubt because
the one I relied upon did not
know how to meet me half way.

Captured by your adverse opinion,
when all feelings are fleeting.

I will miss you, yes–but I know now that
I am not responsible for your unhappiness.

I will not cut myself open
because you refuse to let me grow.


If Only.

wishes, art, star, galaxy, dreams
Source: The Old Astronomer

You have a way with words that rush like rain but no one knows who made you this way.
I searched for the right answers, but all I knew is that I loved to be in love with you.

If only I could pretend none of this is happening.

I walk now towards valleys and forge my own path in a wilderness I was always meant to walk through. Breaking fellowship on every ground I attempted to place a root. Violently striking out against anyone who ever sided with you.

This is a chartered course but no one knows where the final destination will be. For now the coordinates are: me without you, you without me. And these jaded hearts do not heal like they used to. You cannot rebound with the next opposite or hop to another extreme.

After all, I am a vibrant winter and quiet spring–a host of mutable complexities.

Things change. What started as a walk in the park began to get hard. Yellow caution, now an unmistakable red light. You were a tiny star in my infinite galaxy. The one I used to build dreams around. Now I am awake and clumsy with suspicion. Taking the longest road back to reality.

If only I could pretend none of this is happening. 

I do not care that you are gone. I care that you deliberately dragged me along. I care that you pledged allegiance to us, while in the same breath planned your exodus. I care that my devastation at being deceived led me to fight for someone unworthy of me.

But now I force myself to get up. Tackle the voices in my head telling me I am not good enough. Repair the damage I introduced to my family. Find a way to absorb the cost.

If only I could pretend none of this is happening.

26. No Contact.


Hours go by without contact and she feels barren, incomplete. Like one of her vital organs is fatally hemorrhaging. She looks for something–anything to plug up the hole and numb the ache. But with no resources she is forced to experience the full brunt of the pain. She owns her intentional suffering. Facing all the hurt she brought to the table along with the additional burdens she received. She settles into a place of awareness. Bearing down, she begins to breathe deep.

Days go by without contact and she pauses to think: just how long will I spend dwelling on this debilitating history? It is one thing to be meticulous about healing, quite another to linger and fold under the weight. Because missing someone makes you feel heavy. It sits in the forefront of your mind. Absence holds you resentfully–in a cold and dark embrace. She wonders just how much more she can take.

Weeks go by without contact and she fights against what she knows to be true. She yearns to reconnect…understanding silence is a party of two. Quietly, she regains her sense of self. Seeing her heart replenish with restorative things. She invests in the idea that she is worthy of good care–and she pursues her happiness exclusively. Releasing her expectation of other people, she cultivates the ability to separate her thoughts. Replacing the negative loop with positive affirmations: I am good enough.

Months go by without contact and she never thought she would get to this place. Accepting what fell apart, moving forward, letting go of everything. She forgave herself for her mistakes. Forgave him for not being who she wanted, respect him for owning who he was. Now, she can envision him properly. Listen to those songs, watch old movies, go back to their favorite spots. Now, the past does not devastate her thoughts.

Years go by quickly.
Memories are forgotten and lost.
The pain she believed would last forever
is healed and completely gone. 

Get Your Hands Up

This is no extraordinary circumstance.

I have issues with my redirected position, but it is obvious I have one clear option now. It is sad it came down to this, but none of it is actually surprising. Sometimes, you know nothing more than what you believe. I believed I was committed to forever, but that “resilience” only came from me.

What did I know about hoping and praying and wholesome Christian dating?
I knew what I wanted. And I thought that was enough to carry me.
I was willing to do battle.
As long as it takes–Fight! until both sides could peacefully meet.

But it takes two to endlessly and hopelessly disagree.

What hurts is fighting for over a year and finding nothing ever got solved. Certain conflicts get pushed under a rug and you learn it is “better” to suppress than start a war. But it all built up to the point where you resent the very person, you promised to love.

I suppose it’s alright to change your mind.
Alright to not understand what unconditional means on this side of life.

But I’m not here about that.

What’s NOT okay is walking away. Running from actions and being passive about the mess you made. No, we are required to do much more than pretend nothing happened. We can’t stay here–at this crossroads trying to forget. It will take work to get back.

Back to our individual paths.
Past all that residue we carried on our backs.
Beyond the hurt we identified and used–
to excuse the reactive state of our minds.
Back to our God given images
of what a man and woman should be.

I hate that this was the lesson
I had to learn with you.

But I pray that it finally
leads us BOTH to truth.



I found something I thought I had lost, today.
Looked in a place I have not visited for quite some time.
I remembered all the good moments through positive memories
that crept in along with my discovery.
After some dusting and effort to restore what I misplaced and misused–
my heart was elated to see it was made brand new.

This is better than restoration.
It is not taking new paint and putting it over a tired situation.
This is a fresh sense of those endless possibilities
that emerged before adulthood started to suffocate me.
Before relationships were tainted by–bad experience

We used to trust.
We used to love.
We used to be so much more than just an “US”.

Over time–romance eclipsed brotherly love
and we forgot what we were eternally made of.
We ignored that quiet voice urging us to look ahead.
we fell behind.

We became drawn to each other’s flaws.
Those specks and those logs
We were inconsistent
We stopped speaking life.

But I was reminded today.

we cannot see our treasures hiding in plain sight.
We dig, trying to recover what we’ think we’ve lost.
Pushing our gifts further and further away.

But if we only take a moment to just breathe and trust–
the things we love have a way of coming back to us.

Life Proof.

I wish it would not rain in April, that Winter would lose dominance in Spring.
I feel limited by the afflictions of my emotional turbulence.
Carried forcefully by things I cannot see.

I am in pursuit of an immediate response.
Met with silence that borders on defeat.
I struggle to find the ultimate meaning.

My heart cries, “Wake Up!”
Go strengthen what remains.
Revelations flood my conscience with hopes of invoking change.

Bad habits wreak havoc on an already guarded heart.
Do I believe in starting over?
or will I hinder my progress when it gets hard?

I do not know
where to start.
But I know
I have to do
my part.


Hard hearts have explanations for everything they do.
They speak with pause and draw borders around them.
They do not know openness.
They harden at the sign of hopefulness.

I may have a lot I want to say but I cannot effectively communicate with all this junk in my chest.
It’s like singing with bronchitis. Your voice comes out hoarse, your song–useless.
I cannot hear beyond my feelings.
I operate from my broken place.
Isn’t it so much easier this way?
To continue walking away instead of making a change?

Hard hearts do not want different–they prefer the comfort of their cell.
I mean shell.
That hard exterior a lot of us know so well.
Because it’s easier to step back, dig in deep with your wounds.
And refuse to let anybody get close to you.

Like a porcupine–you prick.
You throw jabs and radiate defensiveness.
Still singing your tenuous song. Hapless and boastful.
Empty and long.

This position keeps you guarded just enough to ensure you never have to move.
“He who sets the pace, controls the fight.” That is all you know how to do, right?

But we are much less fighters than we are battered and bruised–
Victims of misinterpretation.
Carriers of insubordination.
Pursuers of retaliation.

I should have just apologized for hurting you.

Untreated wounds become infections and spread to the latter parts of you.
Like cancer, destroying health.
Like conflict, dividing unity.
Like silence, deprives of peace.

To soften is to burden my heart with the pure unadulterated truth.

I should have just apologized, I was wrong for hurting you.