Poem~These Things~AF~14

When I think Philippians 4:8, 

I meditate on many things, 

For many things are noble and true. 

But there is one memory in particular. 

I think about your big pretty house,

With the elevator, I mean uhh the “service lift.” 

And that view of the lake, I swear I marked the spot where heaven met earth. 

I think of your family, 

With your parents that made me want to believe that happily ever after was still a thing, 

And your very protective dad that didn’t want our twenty-something-year-old selves to get lost in the maze at the pumpkin patch. 

And the mom who pulled him aside to convince him to let us go. 

At nine o clock each night, your father would call us all down and read scripture to us. 

Made sure everyone understood it. 

Introduced his kids to the God he worshiped himself. 

Waited for no one else to do that. 

Before I arrived there, I resolved to never get married. 

The single life was fine, make my own decisions all by myself, 

Told myself, independence was my calling. 

Told myself, I might get lonely, but never lonely enough to give a man the power to break me like…. 

I starred at the spot where heaven met earth while everyone was napping after our joyous feast and cried. 

Because when you get a glimpse of a love that’s drastically more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen you just… 

Because when you hear God say, in his own way of speaking that this is kind of family your children will know you just…

Because when you think happily ever after was a story mom told you so reality didn’t give you nightmares and then you see it in real life, you just… 

There in front of where heaven meets earth, 

I threw my decision made in the midst of trauma into the lake and watched it drown. 

I took the promise God gave me and put it in the safest place inside me, 

In the same little pouch where my mustard seed lies. 

So when I think about these things, 

These things that are true, noble, and right. 

These things that are pure, lovely, and admirable 

These things that are excellent or praiseworthy, 

I ponder many things. 

Of course, I think of my five-year-old nephew’s wiggle when he hears a dance-worthy song. 

Of course, I think of my mother’s drive to always make sure her babies are taken care of. 

Of course, I think of my big brother who loves me, but I’m not allowed to tell anyone. 

But meditating on this, Family, like God intended it… 

Taking hold of the promise you were trying to give me… 

Seeing it so clearly after I forgot what it looked like… 

Hope. 

Hope is praiseworthy. 

Hope is pure.

By:Acacia Faye

poem ~ I Can Make Things Emo Easy Peasy Cause That's My Aesthetic ~LadybytheSea ~

I Can Make Things Emo Easy Peasy Cause That's My Aesthetic ~LadybytheSea

I am the kind who goes out to sea

When the skies are gray

And the chances of storms

Are a guaranteed

Just so I can take a look at harsh reality

And panic

I am the kind who doesn't naturally look for silver linings nor for rainbows

I am the kind who looks for the potential evil lurking behind every corner waiting for the inevitable fallout first

I am the kind who struggles to see the lovely in a sunny day, and finds it effortless to find the horrible under the shining sun.

I am of the kind who must ask for help, to see the lovely in reality

For so often I am blind to the praiseworthy

I am the kind who should go

sailing on brighter days

When the chances of rainbows are guaranteed

I need laughter and excellent company

to remember there is still lovely and pure things in the world.

Non ficton Poem ~ I Need Something God~ LbtS ~ 11

I Need Something God
by LadybytheSea

It's always something God.
Something small
Something I don't see
Or hear or feel
Or even think
Or do.
 
It's always something God.
Little 'blonde moments'
That help
The insecure thoughts
And self-pity
To come rushing in.
 
It's always something God
That reminds me
I'm not all here
Not all knowing
Not as aware
As I should be
 
It's always something God
To help me find
my humility
To deflate my pride
And to clear my mind.
 
It's always something God
Always something small
I need to find.

Poem~"Why Did You Do it?"~AF~7

Dad, why did you do it?
He looks at me with eyes that have always lied,
He says, "I swear I'm not guilty.
You are safe with me baby girl."

Dad, why did you do it?
He sits down, he tears up, his voice gets small,
He says, "I didn't do it.
I swear you can trust me."

Dad, why did you do it?
He grabs my shoulders, he shakes me,
He says, "I can't believe you think I would do that.
You have to believe I did not do it."

Dad, why did you do it?
He hits the table with both hands,
He says, "Damnit child!"
Stop asking me that or I'll dot your eye!" 

Dad, why did you do it?
He narrows his eyes.
He says, "Because I am the father and she is the daughter!
I can make her do whatever I want!"

Dad, why did you do it?
He picks me up by my neck.
He says, "None of your damn business little girl!
I'm a grown man and I do what I want!"

Dad, why did you do it?
He cries, he wipes his eyes.
He says, "I had to make up for all the times...
I never showed her I loved her."

Dad, why did you do it?
He sobs on the floor.
He says, "I didn't know she didn't want me to.
I'm sorry.  Tell her I'm sorry."

Dad, why did you do it?
He looks at me with misty honest eyes.
He says, "I don't know what's wrong with me.
I thought it would help me figure it out."

Dad, this is what God says to you,
When I ask you why you did it.
This is what He says to you,
When I sit down to listen. 

Speak son.
Speak now or forever cry in silence,
Forever hold your breath,
Forever tighten the noose around your own neck. 
Answer the child's questions.

Speak son.

Tell her about the day when everything went dark,
About the time your mind started twisting,
What they said and did to twist it.
Tell her why you did it.

Speak son.
Tell her about the day you were silenced,
About the day your truthful tongue was ripped from your mouth,
The name of the person who holds it now.
Tell her why you did it.

Speak son.
Tell her about your darkest day,
What made the monster inside,
About the time you decided to free it.
Tell her why you did it.

Speak son.
Dig up the truth that you buried alive as a kid.
Dig it up because no matter how many showers you take,
No matter how hard you scrub,
You will forever lie in mud with your name until you speak. 

Speak son.
Tell her your story,
For this may be your only chance to tell it.
Tell her what happened,
Because she is actually listening. 

Dad, I had much to say,
Lots of cuss words arranged in poetic ways.
But now that we are here,
I just want to listen.

I just want you to trust me with the truth.
I only have two questions.
Why did you do it?
And do you ever feel guilty?

Poetry ~ A Psalm (Freedom) ~ LbtS

A Psalm (Freedom) by LadybytheSea
The addiction
To my iniquity
Puts a barrier
Betwixt us

At least that's
How it feels
For me.
This addiction
It makes me think
I am no longer worthy
To be near
To be loved
To have hope
For true freedom

I crave freedom
Most of all.

But my flesh
How it craves
Things I cannot have
It yearns for a future
I am not entitled to.
A future made
Of wishful fantasies.

Listen to its whispered fallacies
Watch how I follow so wittingly
Look at me now!
I even defend such
bittersweet half-truths
Meant to cloud my sight
And snuff my light.

How much unbelief
Is still tethered to my soul?

Tell me O Lord,
How many chains
Do my small hands
Still hold?

When will I let them go?
When O Lord?
Can You tell me, please?

Instead You remind me:
I am worthy
I am loved
I can come near
I can have hope
For Christ has set us free
For it has been proclaimed clearly:
"So, if the Son sets you free,
you will be free indeed."*
I am Yours,
I am no longer a wandering slave
To be bought and sold
To different masters,
But rather,
A crowned child of
The Most High King,
Forever.
Amen.
~~~~
*John 8:34-36

Poetry ~ "The Prodigal Son" ~ AF ~ 2

"The Prodigal Son"

By: Acacia Faye

You hate yourself,
a wayward child running away.
You're done rebelling,
but you're still running. 
Running through the trees,
still far away from me.
Running on the street,
like that's what you deserve to be. 

Just a street,
Under my feet,
To be stomped,
spit on,
and walked all over.

Like a wayward child you run,
But I forgive you my prodigal son.
You run away,
But I pray you come home.
I was angry,
But now I'm busy painting.
Painting this street gold,
So that you may know.

If you're the street,
It's precious to me,
To be loved,
Hugged,
And kissed all over.

Like a wayward child you run,
But I forgive you my prodigal son. 

Poetry ~ Burdens ~ LbtS ~ 2

"Burdens"

 By: Lady By The Sea

I was walkin’ along a never-ending road
carrying my heavy burdens
I’d picked up in towns past.
I don’t know why I carry it around.

I guess it’s my pride
or it’s a sense of control;
I’m not really sure.
All I know is I can’t let it go.

I stop along the way
and take out the contents.
They bring back the pain
of broken promises and dreams;
the hardships I had endured with a bitter heart.
The tears start flowing.

I don’t know why I carry it around.
I guess it’s my pride
or it’s a sense of control.
I’m not really sure.
All I know is I can’t let it go.

“Give me your burdens, Beloved.”
That’s what the Savior says to me again.
How can I give him my dark afflictions?
I tell him, "No," once again
and take up my heavy burdens
and keep walking down the never-ending road.

I know why I carry it around.
It’s my pride
and it’s a sense of control.
And, I’m sure
I don’t want to let it go.

In the next town, I find trouble;
or rather, trouble found me.
It’s the same old story
and it ends with me running away
even more brokenhearted.
I add another burden.

I know why I carry it around.
It’s my pride
and it’s a sense of control.
And, I’m sure
I don’t want to let it go.

In the Valley,
the never ending road splits.
Do I take the narrow path or stay to the wide?
For the first time, I look at Jesus,
my constant companion.
He’s never left me, not for one moment.
I know why I won’t ask him which road to take.

It’s my pride
and it’s a sense of control.
And, I’m not sure
if I should let it go.

I’m lost on the never ending road.
I took the wide
and it just led me astray.
I look to Jesus:
the Savior, my constant companion,
and I’m ashamed.
Why didn’t I ask Him which way to go?

It’s my pride
and it’s a sense of control.
And, I’m sure
I want to let it go.

At a crossroad
I break down
“I’m tired of being lost, Jesus!” I cry.
“Take my burdens please, Lord, I’m so tired,”
I tell Him as I lay them at his feet.
He keels down
and wordlessly takes me into his arms.
I tell him,

“It’s been my pride,
and a sense of control
that’s kept me from you.
Please Jesus, I’m sure,
I want to let it go!”

“I know, Beloved,” he tells me.
“I made you and I know you
and all I want is for you to know
how much I love you. And, that I have forgiven you.
And, for you to trust me.”

“I give you my pride," I tell him,
"And my sense of control.
I’m letting it all go,
and I’m gonna follow You now, Lord,
on this never ending road,” I say.

Poetry ~ Wonder of the Meadow ~ LbtS ~ 1

"Wonder of the Meadow"

By: Lady By The Sea

Sometimes I wonder if all people lose that magic;
the magic they felt when running through
an open meadow of over grown grass and wildflowers
with the wind nipping at your hair as you imagine you're flying
high above the meadow into the bright blue sky;
kissing the clouds with small fingers,
drinking in the warmth of the sun
that only slightly blinds
the bright wide eyes
of a child.

Unhindered by cynicism
and complex idealism
of the adult mind,
so bent on getting the job done
faster and faster and faster,
often forgetting to laugh and dream
as innocently as the child
running though the meadow.

Thank God for the artist
that captures the magic of the meadows
through colors, lines, and shapes.
Thank God for the composer,
that can capture the wonder
of flying through the sky
though instruments and notes.
Thank God for the writer
that can describe a child playing
through words and phrases.

Oh, thank God for the creative!

Sometimes I wonder if all people lose that magic;
that their hearts are sometimes stolen.
But, then, I don't.
For who could forget
the magic of innocent imagination
when the creative are around!

Poetry ~ Yes I'm One Of Those Crazy Girls That Can't Stop Thinking About Love (One Of Those Girls) ~ LbtS ~ 1

"Yes I'm One Of Those Crazy Girls That Can't Stop Thinking About Love"

("One Of Those Girls")


By: Lady By The Sea

I'm one of those.
One of those

Tumblr-fangirl-shipper girls

that pays a little too much attention

to every glance,

to every word

between two characters

that are so obviously

meant for a happily,

happily ever after.

Yes, I'm one of those.
Yes, I'm one of those
girls reading headcanons,
searching for [innocent] fanfictions
and typing
"I can't even!"
for my favorite couples
of old and new stories,
and blowing holes
in those other stubborn
ships with pirate flags.

Yes, I'm one of those.
Yes, I'm one of those
girls in love.
Girls in love
with love stories.

But, I gotta little secret;
A little little secret.

Yes, I'm one of those.
Yes, I'm one of those
girls that love the couples
that survived all the heartbreak,
all the clichés
to get their endgame.
Thank God for endgames.

But, I'm also
one of those;

one of those girls
watching those.
Watching those
real life couples
and wondering,
oh, I'm wondering
when it's all gonna
sink to the bottom,
cause the truth is
I'm one of those girls
believing
happily ever after
just means
time spent together
before the bitter end.

Yes, I'm one of those.
Yes, I'm one of those
that has faith in fiction
but not in the real world.

Poetry ~ "It's a Beautiful Wedding" ~ AF ~1

"It's A Beautiful Wedding"

By: Acacia Faye

"I just love weddings."
A distant whisper flutters past my ear. 
"Stop this wedding!"
A demon's yell twists my insides.
"Shh.  He's a minister.  It's a beautiful wedding." 

But, it twists until he kisses his bride,
and the lights go out in the church,
and the demon shoves me beneath the pew,
and squeezes tears from my eyes. 
"It's too late now."

A gossiping woman shakes her head behind me.
"He's beating her."
My stomach twists again like before.
"You should have stopped this wedding."
And, I realized, this angry spirit was not demonic. 

Poetry ~ "Ickyness" ~ NL ~ 1

"Ickyness"

By: Naomi Lea

I know what I am supposed to do.

I know how I should do it too.

But, this mess

in my chest

keeps me from doing my best.

There's a sludge that is clogging me.

I can't budge when I try to break free.

This Ickyness

does arrest

my mind and I feel worthless.

I want to shake this nasty stuff off.

But, then no, I want to stay aloft.

Sure it's gross,

I won't boast

about how nasty I do grow.

New days come and I set my resolve

to be better and erase it all

in my own

strength alone,

like He is not with me; unknown.

I want to lay this Ickyness down;

to throw and trample it on the ground;

to kill it

so legit,

that it dies and the pain will quit.

Why is it so hard for me to stop

and end this madness; just let it drop?

It's easy,

but kills me

because I don't want Him to see.

Like I could keep Him from anything.

Who made the universe and all that sings?

He is God

who has sought

His image in Creation wrought.

His hands made me and all that I am,

but He's not done, no, he has a plan:

hacking down,

shaping round

and cleaning me; making me found.

Soon this Ickyness will let me be:

He will come and set all of me free.

Oh, but first,

I must burst

from pride and only for Him thirst.

Until I let Him in to do work,

I slam the door fast, shut with a jerk;

scared to do

what is true

and make my life His glory prove.

Lord, please help me with this Ickyness.

Without you, everything is a mess.

I submit,

I will quit

covering up my candle lit.

Oh, dear God, I need your help now please.

I'm begging you here, down on my knees.

Without You,

I can do

nothing; everything I lose.

Poetry ~ The Eyes of a Cheerful Soul ~ AF ~ 1

The Eyes of a Cheerful Soul

By: Acacia Faye

Those eyes bring tears to mine as I write.
They peer into a tormented, but cheerful soul.

The love of the unwanted,
The attentiveness of the neglected,
The gentle touch of the abused.

It's all in her eyes,
The eyes of the tormented, but cheerful soul.

Look you unwanted child!
Pay attention you victim of neglect!
Watch carefully you who are abused!

It's beautiful! Don't you see it?
That light that came out of ten years raised in pure darkness.