Confession

I believe the fire is reserved for me
No way around it
It's hard to break free
From the terrible truth
That I'm not who I seem
And the life that I live is not all
Peaches and Cream,
But anger and lies
Both big and small
And cravings that contrast
My Heavenly call,
and there's no way for me
to accomplish it all:
To be faithful and gentle and truthful and calm
To be kind and be generous and patient and strong.
And I sink with the pressure
that I feel from above.
So instead I confess it,
And hope for the best
that when it's all over
that I pass the test
And all of the worrying
And all of the striving
Was a very good effort
But unnecessary writhing
cause all that I needed was to confess with my lips
And believe with my heart that I'm a piece of shit
And that I needed a Savior who could clean up my mess
And that he would accept me and love me
And take care of the rest.
(Funny enough I know this to be untrue
because Jesus himself said,
"I don't know you.
If you don't do the things I say to do,
you're a stranger to me,
And I to you.")

Forever this way--
Anxious and afraid.
This is my new normal
This is my day to day.

Compulsion

It tears from my throat
like a hand with steel claws
is dragging my voice and my soul
out from my mouth.

There's no rest
from the clenching of my muscles,
like a spasm with no sign of relief.

My body is trapped-
painfully still
head tilted back
and mouth open wide.

"Holy holy holy
is the Lord God Almighty,"
never ceasing
never waning.

The only movement
is the flapping of my wings.
A reflex from the pain,
they tear through the air.

I'm not alone.
There are millions of us
lined up and down
this golden room

And at the center He sits
and watches
and its been this way
since forever
and will be this way
till forever more.

I am the Suburban Mom

I am the Suburban Mom
Always chipper and running around
From practice to tutoring
I'm the best mom in town.
And every so often
When I flip completely out
And lose my cool,
And act like a clown,
My lawn is still manicured
With long green fescue,
And my 2.5 kids
Pose perfectly for our family pictures.
And when I am dying inside,
Feeling helpless and totally alone,
My smile shines brightly
In selfies I took on my new iPhone.
I am the Suburban Mom
Making my life look perfect
Like its my job.

I was inspired to write this as I was reading a completely unrelated book. I scribbled it quickly on the back cover and now its here. Forever. 

You may not know this

There was a time when I knew so many people in this space. We would read each other's writing and comment and share and critique. For years. I think there are still communities like that. I just fell out. And now when I look back to find those friends, they're no where to be found. They've stopped writing or they've cancelled their pages. And yet here I am.

There was a time when I would have hundreds of posts every year. Now I average about 1/mo. Isn't that something? Have the words all dried up? Has my life become so stagnant that there's nothing left to write?

Anyway back to the part that you may not know. There's a hidden menu to the right of this page and when you hover over it, a little file cabinet pops out labeled "remember," and then you see a list of years filled with posts dating back to 2005.

2005. 12 years of writing. I mean I've been writing longer than that, but those writings are mostly lost. I'd kept them in notebooks that I'd decorated with magazine cut-outs and puff paint. They're probably decomposing somewhere. But here on this page are 12 years of recorded writings, posts, rants, memories, jokes...

I was 19 years old. In college. A party girl with a 4.0 living in New Orleans.

Now I'm 31. Mother of 2. I've been married 11 years and have been living in Raleigh for 7 years.

Its a lot.

I was reading through my writing last night. Reading through the years.

Its a lot.

So many drafts.

lots of words to say
to express how I feel
In my day to day
But I refuse to hit publish
For fear that its rubbish
So instead I hit save
Close my laptop
And walk away.

Panic

It's come back-
That empty feeling
That's not empty at all,
But hollow and tumultuous
Like something's stirring
More like something's emerging
And banging on your sanity's walls.

It rises
To just about the top of your lungs
right about when you're going to scream
or choke
Can't breath
Tears jerk
And you use all your strength
To keep it in check
And most of the time it works.

Then,
At least for me,
Right about when I forget to breathe
And my panic makes it hard to see
Reality
I call on words to make sense of it all
To help me stamp it all
Brand it all
With something that I can understand
Then I write it out for y'all,
My foes and my friends,
To glance at when you've got a sec
And think, hmm it doesn't make much sense
and you quickly move on to the next.

Impulse

It bubbles up inside
Like the fizzy carbonation
of a soda pop bottle
Shaken and tipped
On its side.
Ready to explode
But kept inside
by a small cap
Screwed on tight.

Still still.

I have found it increasingly hard
To think as of late.
And because of this ennui that I hate
I sit and impatiently wait
fidget
flutter
and flail
I implore of my muse
inspiration
And motivation
to no avail
So here I sit still
For the truth to slowly unveil.

Echoes

A tiny sound that stretches across vast spaces

Filling them with vibrations and waves 

Overwhelming them with reverberations 

Is now taking place in my brain. 

Prayer Mantra

Today when the anguish and anxiety was rising up inside of me, I instinctually blurted out (in my mind) “worry about nothing, pray about everything,” and then immediately started praying. It just made me realize that because of my formal Christian education since childhood until graduating college, I was instilled with prayer mantras that I could call upon instinctively because they had been engrained into my mind. I need to provide that for my girls--scripture so engrained in their minds that they can call upon it even in the most desperate of times! 

Sharp Turns

My steady breathing
Belies the unsteady beating
Of my anxious heart.