Words & Colors @wordsandcolors - Tumblr Blog

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Again.

A part of me thought I would never write again,

but knew I would.

These words, although they feel foreign

as I type them, are as familiar to me

as all the dreams I thought I'd lost but were

merely tucked away in the

guarded safe of my heart.

At some point, we have to question the

places we've been.

What have I left to say but,

"I was afraid that the very thing I loved, would fail to be enough."

And that's the truth.

Somewhere deep inside of me

was the memory of a time I could sing

sonnets with my fingers with my eyes

closed, when the world was everything

I could put down on paper and

nothing that I couldn't.

And now, the only real difference between

the me that was,

and the me that is now, is that

time has made me more cynical

than I ought to be,

but hasn't quenched the flame,

hasn't stopped the fire, hasn't made me forget

what it's like to

miss the words

I never

wrote.

#poetry on tumblr #poetry #writing #words #writers on tumblr #writers and poets

Violet-blue hydrangeas still remind me of you. But this time, I'm not fighting the memory, or mourning over it. I was a coward then--but now I'm returning, stronger.

Wordsandcolors

The things we carry.

So the words didn’t fall out of me

As I’d feared.

I thought that if I’d left them

Stranded, they’d abandon me too—

(like I had done to them)

On an island where loneliness meets

Necessity

And I would build “Plan B”

From the dirt and grass with

My bare hands, wishing for a

Second chance to not take this

Life-blood for granted.

To me,

Trauma looked like never

Recognizing the page again,

As if it had become to me a foreigner

With strange language and

Eyes darker than mine,

A reflection in which I did not perceive

Myself any longer,

Although in times past I was

Often startled to see how alike we looked.

But writers are not barren,

We are full of light and life

Because a carrier of words

Must always carry

Just like a bird that carries

tune must

Always sing it.

#poetry

Internal Monologue

“I think my heart is tired,”

I said to my soul.

I whispered it, so my

mind wouldn’t hear and

question me

like it always does.

Somehow my will heard

word, and

challenged me saying,

“What are you afraid of?”

My heart answered,

“That I won’t be loved.”

And my soul said,

“It is well. The heart speaks

for itself, more

loudly than you think.”

My mind agreed,

and for once I did

not wait for the four

to align, as if there

were something I could say

to one

that the others didn’t

already know.

And I thought to myself,

“So what if my heart doesn’t

feel it? My soul knows,

I am loved,

I am loved.

“Is that enough?” My mind

asked. And my heart

responded,

“It is well,

It is well,

It is well.”

#poetry

To The God Who Covers Cain Yet Still Hears Abel

I have met with You in the cool of the night,

walked circles around your garden and wept

wondering why Eden has not comforted me or

invited me into its green pastures

to be led beside still waters.

I have lifted my eyes to darkened skies, starless, desolate,

and swirling with the questions

only eternity can answer.

I have clenched my fists, opened my mouth,

and raised a soul-cry to the sky

knowing that You’d hear me,

yet wondering why nothing felt like You did

even today, years later,

and long after that heart-song reached

Your ears the first time.

But

You are a God of mercies I don’t understand.

You defend the defenseless victim, yet have compassion for the

perpetrator.

You allow us to hunger while simultaneously

stretching out Your hand to satisfy.

And the truth of it is, You have walked

these same circles I walk now

countless times outside of Eden

Choosing Gethsemane instead of glory

So I, too, like Cain

can lift my head despite

my bloody hands

while you mourn over

Abel’s grave and promise

justice for both the murdered and

the murderer.

#poetry #truth #OurGod #defender #friend

Home

And everything around me

tells me I’m a fool.

A fool for wanting,

a fool for waiting,

a fool for letting go in hope of

something more.

On so many days I believe the lie

and I am crushed by the unknown of

what “they” are thinking.

it is the unheard ridicule that is most

crippling

Because it confronts without courage, and

criticizes without words.

But You are the shelter I run to

when the night is dark and the shame

relentless

A friend with kind words

One who covers up my scars and

speaks peace to my wounds, beckoning healing.

“They” will never understand the heart that

beats impressions of Your laughter.

Nor will they ever know how hard I fought

to find You

when all along You were

the whisper in my chest

ever calling me,

“Come home, come home, my beloved.

You are welcome here with me.”

#poetry #truth #words #spilled ink

Stranger things have happened.

I hope that you remember me well.

That when the sun sits low in the morning,

and the streets of your city are hushed in

stillness at the break of day,

when the night blooms soft

with violet-blue hydrangeas,

that you will sometimes think of me and

how we walked there,

hand in hand,

counting the moments

and guarding the time we had as if we

understood its weight.

(You could not have known then that I

would miss the parts of you I never knew

and

how keenly I felt the uncertainty of goodbye

even as I

opened my heart to a stranger and found,

to my surprise,

it was still beating.)

#poetry #words #writing #after all this time

Social[ly] [Isolating] Media

[Insert social media of choice] is where we see

all imperfections

painted over in various hues of

rose colored [camera] lenses.

I sometimes wonder if other people

see in [mirror] me

the lack of transparency

I criticize in them.

Probably not.

After all I, too, have hidden myself

behind the walls [and chains]

of anonymity we find when

we become pos[t]ers

for average [extraordinary and rare] things, like

sunlight hitting face [mask] in just the

right way, at the right time,

at the right hour, on the right [wrong]

day, when everything is

perfect [falling apart]

at the seams,

or so it seems,

doesn’t it?

#poetry #poem #writing #social media #truth #transparency #workitout

These Walls

Sometimes I wonder if a heart can take the

weight of sorrow

As if this beating instrument

of grace were built with walls

of sand instead of flesh

Sand is swept away by tide and

crushed by hands

while flesh, though frail itself,

grows stronger as it sees adversity.

I know not everyone will understand me

Perhaps I’ve made decisions

that, objectively, seem harsh

but inside, my walls are crumbling,

my core is exposed,

and written deeper are the

scars no one can judge but God.

So here I am,

this desperate, weighted soul

clinging to strings of hope

as dark eyes cling to light

and I am none the weaker for it now

although these walls appear

to break, I know they are still standing,

supported by the Hand that always holds

and never fails.

#poetry #poem #words #light #wordsoflife

God is not confined by time He is not restricted by age He does not forget prayers whispered in secret places Nor is my father slow to understand.

wordsandcolors

#truth #words #life

If it were possible to define you, I would assign a letter to every shade of laughter in your eyes and fill books with metaphors penned solely for the purpose of keeping for myself reminders of you that could never be erased from my memory, and could never be removed from my heart.

wordsandcolors

#poetry #just a snippet #oldone #writing #words

It is in this time I have realized what desperate beings we humans are, and what frail things, searching high and low for what cannot satisfy, drinking deeply from the well of knowledge yet emerging as fools nonetheless.

wordsandcolors

#words

Because He speaks when I can't. He knows all the right words to say when I don't. He sings the songs I can't articulate, and prays when I can't open my mouth or my heart wide enough to give expression to my pain. For all of this, He is enough. HIS GRACE IS SUFFICIENT, HIS GRAVE IS EMPTY, MY SOUL IS FREE.

wordsandcolors

#words #life #words of life #savior #enough #writing

I say to myself, 'Pick up the pen and write. make empty palms sing and fill hands with dreams again.' And I smile.

wordsandcolors

#snippet #poetry #words #everything

What Words Feel Like in a Writer’s Hand

Sometimes I am a hurricane of words tempered only by walls Designed to quiet storms built by those who would Silence dreamers (If dreams were things that Could be silenced).

But other times I am tame and still a lesson in quiet breathing, songs turned into sonnets whispered and not rushed (the way a line of poetry should feel when) held between my fingers.

#poetry #poem #words #likebreathing