Trust Wall

I built this wall.
Brick by brick.
“Yes, yes” I say. “Yes, I trust you.”
Another brick.
Pain, hurt.
Trust is good, “Yes, I trust you”
Here is a brick.
Again? Why should I trust you!?
After what you did? After what you said?
See?! Here. Fine. Here is a brick of trust!
It becomes habit.
The wall grows higher.
The pain cuts deeper.
Then. It’s numb.
What is pain? Trust is pain. Pain is trust.
Trust is this stupid wall.
The wall that blocks me from the real you.
I say it’s trust, but now it’s self defense.
What should be a beautiful building?
A stupid wall.
“Walk around it!” you say.
“No” I reply. “I am trying to trust.”
But real trust is safety. Real trust is two sided.
Real trust builds a beautiful house.
Not an ugly wall.

So here I sit.
On my wall.
I want to see over it.
I want to see through it.
I want to see what you’ve become past my dusty wall.
But this “trust” built of bricks

blocks me from you
Under the pretense of helping.
Under the idea of giving you independence.
Under the thought you have a better plan.
But trust.
Trust is two.
Trust is an invitation not a fear of rejection.
Trust is where you see the beautiful.
Trust is a hope for the morning.
Trust is a beautiful house. A beautiful home.
Trust is not sorrowful or lonely.
Trust is meant to be beautiful.

I can’t take down these bricks, but you can help me.
I can’t undo the words, but we can undo the wall.
Bricks can be used a second time.
So won’t you build with me?

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Originally written June 12, 2016

Hope in the Dark

Darkness.
Night sky.
Eyelids flutter open.
Stars breathe.
Empty with darkness.
Full of stars.
A paradox above.
Inspires both light and dark.
Now,
here
we
go.
Above,
beyond,
understanding
hope.
What do we find beautiful in the night sky?
The deafening blackness?
The empty dark void?
The endless cold space?
No.
The warm beams of the moon.
The space filled with stars.
The sky singing with light.
The hope that shines in the dark.
It’s the light that shines through.
Hope.
Hope as seen by the stars.
As seen by what we believe is there.
It only takes a small bit to believe.
                                                                                                              H o l d  O n.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Originally Written November 18, 2016

Beautifully Terrible Paradox

Love is a beautiful paradox.
Love is pure joy.
Love is a deeper understanding.
Love is a peaceful sigh.
Love is a feeling.
Love is an action.
Love is full of pain.
Love is millions of tears.
Love is fighting for the best.
Love is knowing the worst.
Love is believing beyond doubt.
Love is a terrible paradox.
As it hurts it gives something beyond joy.

 

Originally Written February 16, 2016

Semblance of Grey

Cloudless sky. Clouded sky.

Damp and dark. Hollow trees.

Leaves dripping and falling to the ground.

Mud. Frozen. A tundra of the heart.

Melding, melting into something softer. Kinder.

 

Underneath a layer hidden.

Redefining from within.

Opening from the inside outward.

Ripping off petals for new growth to begin.

True Story.

A little girl.

A little girl with pigtails.

A little girl with pigtails wearing pink.

A little girl with pigtails wearing pink running after a ball.

 

A ball.

A ball rolling.

A ball rolling down into the street.

A ball rolling down into the street past the line of safety.

 

A car.

A car with a driver.

A car with a driver who’s vision is hindered.

A car with a driver who’s vision is hindered slamming on the breaks.

 

A woman.

A woman distracted in conversation.

A woman distracted in conversation looking up.

A woman distracted in conversation looking up and screaming.

 

The little girl stops.

The ball rolls.

The car stops.

The woman runs after the little girl.

One Day

One day.
One day consisting of 24 hours.
One day of inhales and exhales.
One day where people walk, talk, think, and speak.
One day when people are born and people die.
One day that contains joy and sorrow.
One day is the same as yesterday.
One day will be the same tomorrow.
There is nothing new under the sun.
Today is one day.
Breathe.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Written November 8, 2016

Autumn. Or Fall.

A plastic bag sits in the freshly harvested field

The wind slowly rustling it, but it’s stuck in the stocks.

The leaves are still on the trees

The wind slowly rustling them, but soon they will fall.

 

The grass green.

The flowers fading.

The sky ever changing.

 

Sunsets earlier and sunrises later.

The light lessens and the darkness increases.

Blankets. Tea. A good book.

Snuggles with pets and Netflix for cold, rainy days.

 

Heat turning on AC seldom used.

Final bonfires and fireplaces regularly being lit.

Extra layers, cardigans, flannels, jackets, hoodies.

Sandals away and wool socks rediscovered.

 

The smell of things fading, decaying.

A season turning slowly then all at once.

Lingering taste of summer on our lips.

Then forgetting it ever existed.

 

A deep breath in.

A deep breath out.

Now it’s autumn.

Or fall.