Unfinished Biz-naas.

I know I've posted this one before. But I took it down, well, because I started dating the person that this poem was about...Should have listened to myself.

As good as it will be

for you to hold me

As much as I want

you to be the truth

You aren't the one.

As much as I want

my search to be over

As long as I've waited

for him to come,

you aren't the one.

Here are some crappy, unfinished poems for your pleasure.

I'm so lost

lost..lost...

You hear that echo?

Its the emptiness of this brain.

Uh oh.

Here it comes again,

all this stress I build on,

and worry I feed on,

that keeps me feeling alive

just, until I break down.

I'm a pretty broken person. I wonder when I will be fixed.

Cold is the weather

and cold is my heart.

Too much of one thing

and my brain falls apart.

Always overwhelming,

this feeling that overcomes me.

This is about my beautiful Momma.

You take blame upon yourself

Even when it has nothing to do

with you at all.

You bring it upon yourself

to catch everyone around you

when they fall,

Even when you can't keep yourself

going on or standing tall.

Why is it that Mom's are so awesome, yet most people can't write well on the subject? You'd think it would be easy!

There is something

I've dreamed of

since childhood dolls

Through Jr High crushes

to High School halls.

Red cheek flushes

Slight hand brushes

And gentle lip touches.

I want you intimately,

To hold you close to me

To know you thoroughly

To love you with all of me.

Love will be mine

someday.

Won't it?

When I feel it

one day,

Will I know it?

This mind

keeps a bottle of pills

in the back

just in case

I get tired of the race.

So, let me sit.

Let me just think.

I'll just lay here

And make a list

of all my faults,

the crimes,

of this broken body.

I'm no one special,

invisible really.

I could lie in bed

and do nothing,

full of apathy

for the world,

and me.

So let me sit.

Let me just pity

This sad thing.

Annnd the drought is over! I have started writing poetry again, and it feels delightful.

Here's my first poem after the rain.

I sat on my legs to see

But Daddy told me not to

I got to see a play

with the grown ups today.

My legs swung from the pew

not tall enough to reach the ground.

Lights go down.

Not a move from me now.

They showed my Jesus

He loved those without love

Fed those without food

Taught those unwilling

Yet, betrayal.

Silver, for this man's life?

Guilty, for the truth?

My Savior, My Jesus, My Friend.

Beaten.

My Savior, My Jesus, My Friend.

Murdered.

I wept. I wept. I wept.

Yet.

My Savior, My Jesus, My Friend

Has risen.

[I'm always reminded of a story my mom told me when I am in a slump. She says that I stayed from Sunday School and stayed to watch the presentation of Christ's crucifixion. But when it came to Jesus being hung on the cross, I got upset. He was my friend. I loved him. How could they be doing this to him? I miss loving like a child.]

I've

f

a

l

l

e

n

in love

with the idea of love.

But right now,

I'm not sure it exists

for me.

[I'm so obsessed with the idea of love. Sometimes I find myself trying to love someone. I always go back and forth. But all along it's never the person I was loving just the idea of having someone to love. I genuinely look forward to that one man that I was meant to find. I'm what you call a hopeless romantic. :) ]