Hebrews 12:1-2

Mostly poems. I tag all my writing with "ref" Stay if you want. e.s.

[pinetreesandpraises]

october night

I am good enough

but I still miss you

I think that’s okay to admit

[pinetreesandpraises]

it was everything and it was nothing by e.s.

I remember the day you ate your breakfast

and then ate all of my leftovers

like it was nothing.

how you couldn’t stop walking around,

couldn’t look at anyone in the room.

I wonder how you can be so well put together,

but so scared.

always running away.

I would ask, but I would never give you that power

to let you know I’m still thinking of you.

I know your answers wouldn’t matter

I prayed to God and He made it clear.

To feel the warmth of your hand

but not to hold on forever.

I look at the messages you sent me.

heart emojis when I couldn’t even think straight.

and realize you were just there to keep me safe.

knock sense into me.

help me clean around this place and wear something I’m actually proud of.

“don’t trust someone who hands you a shirt when they’re naked”

I always heard that

but you

were proof of it.

[courageous-and-strong]

“Those who understand the gospel cannot possibly look down on anyone, since they were saved by sheer grace, not by their perfect doctrine or strong moral character.”

— Tim Keller (via courageous-and-strong)

[faithprayers]

[pinetreesandpraises]

The Scared Girl Gets Nothing by e.s.

Would you love me if I dropped LSD

or took the edible.

Walked straight into the woods without looking back.

Said, “Let’s have a good trip.”

Then smiled as I looked around.

Would you love me more, then?

What if I let you sin?

Let you slam me against the wall.

Make out.

Obliterated into each other.

Wouldn’t that be so hot?

When you say something offensive,

I won’t stare.

There won’t be a single ounce of self-righteousness.

Every part of you will feel light and easy.

Would you love me if I never checked you?

I could look you straight in the eyes.

My hands wouldn’t shake.

You wouldn’t have a doubt in your mind, 

that the girl knows she’s pretty.

Would you love me,

if I loved myself a bit more?

[pinetreesandpraises]

.

[pinetreesandpraises]

when the last person has left by e.s.

Let the adrenaline or pain or whatever is going on inside your chest take over.

The shower knob is too far away.

Avoid meals with other human beings.

Forget how to use your legs.

The leaves and flowers will seem poetic.

Capture them in some sort of form.

Pretend that beautiful inanimate things will help the healing.

Belonging in the big empty fields will almost make it better.

Hold your heart like it’s an abused dog,

trembling.

Look deep in it’s innocent eyes.

Whisper to it that it deserves better.

Everywhere you cannot be seen,

Cry.

This is not a way to live.

None of it is sustainable.

Rationale.

Something people will want to be around.

But it’s the only way to grieve.

A way to move on when the last person has left.

[pinetreesandpraises]

office couches and jungly potted plants

You are either dreamy.

Spacey.

10 feet too far.

Or deep within me,

Like moss-covered ruins.

I can never push you out or pull you in,

So you can meet my face.

So you can see my eyes.

I can never meet you halfway.

Tie a rope and say I love you.

You're either burning my skin,

Or burning my insides.

A warmth on my hands is comfortable,

That's what makes me feel disgusted.

They never teach you how to mend the two.

You ask. You plead in disguise.

How can my heart not go to extremes?

They dance around the truth.

I'm not sure they even know.

With time, I guess.

With time, I pray.

With ease.

With healing.

Fidgety hands.

A heart that's tired.

[pinetreesandpraises]

I used to be a nobody.

I romanticized liminal spaces because I had nothing sturdy enough to call a home.

People say it's endearing now,

But awareness was only survival.

I used to study my own voice and have conversations with the walls in my small room.

Now I'm too scared to even think.

My sense of time was rumination.

I celebrated my differences but secretly knew I hated them.

I work better alone.

I don't hate myself as much as I usually do.

I also don't feel as alive.

Nostalgia is a state of being.

You don't have to know something to say you love it.

I live in 2 spaces: there, and no where.

[pinetreesandpraises]

i would know by e.s.

The adults are at the next table over. They talk and they laugh, only making eye contact with each other. I would know. I’ve tried talking to them and they look at me differently. Like my laugh is not allowed. My laugh doesn’t match with their laugh. My clothes don’t match with their clothes. My dreams don’t match with their dreams. 

When we get deep into conversation, they concentrate on their hands, while I keep staring at the ceiling. My thinking is too loud. If I don’t speak quietly I wont be as well put together. This act of being enough. It is not enough for me. 

So now I sit one table over close enough to feel the energy, but far enough to feel the exclusion. I have my ears pressed against a door that won’t open for me. I look at the empty table I’m at. Must I join them? Can I fit in better? 

They say stand out, but they never tell you it will be with normal people. You think change is radical. Big. When its actually in the groups that seem just quiet enough to where you think you must be quiet too. So I stay sitting alone. 

[come-home]

[takeiteasy-breathe]

[quainthomes-blog]

[pinetreesandpraises]

Hey Past Self, You Were Always Enough by e.s.

For so long I judged myself

Based off the wisdom of others. Captured by how words came out like mist. Feeling the buzz in the air. And counting every time we share small smiles.

Hearing them speak made me realize measurement went beyond architecture blueprints. Because words can feel like big arched doors. Or cathedral lakes.

I wanted so badly to build something I was proud of. To make sentences that felt like art.

I wanted to dig deep. Untangle. Anything that could spark a sense of gratitude.

But you can't always hold truths like others can.

I try to run a race. Feel the lactic acid. Hold down the throw up. Cross the white line. Lose.

This doesn't make me less than.

I do not have to sing to the orchestra. I do not have to beg in the back alley of the chefs restaurant.

No matter how much beauty something can hold, It will not always fully see me as much as I see it.

I am not less than for not being able to be seen. I am not less than for having a home not built as stable.

A home is a home.

When in doubt, I will love myself.

[grace--upon--grace]

[pinetreesandpraises]

sympathy is pouring over, like syrup on a breakfast you don’t want to eat a hurt you don’t want to see 7 billion people you can’t comprehend it so why use this picture at all its not tangible if i can’t hold it if i can’t feel its warmth if i can’t pursue it wheres is it truly coming from? please don’t give me similes from empty hearts from impure intentions please don’t give me shiny things id rather rather have it broken from a story of your own

empathy>

[amandalaurelphotography]