"I don't know," I said.

I don't know, I said.

A burning ache throughout my body

rages, and desires,

for something more than the solitude of myself.

But, to exert such force from my body

is exhausting,

and I must rest, and remind me to take care of myself.

I don't know, I said. 

A still-shot framed photo of what could be,

silences, and echoes

from the surface of scarred skin long-gone.

But, I allowed myself to fall in your arms,

fatigued and loathing

the reflection I saw from normal, kaleidoscope mirrors.

I just don't know, I said.

Immense pain and guilt crowned me,

undeserving and unworthy

of any love or purpose here.

But, one night, God spoke something,

peaceful and fulfilling,

and He gave me the strength to begin to break free.

-LJ

30 December 2016

Only You (A Poem About Snow)

You are a mystery,
that every twenty-first or twenty-second of December,
you may appear, but choose not to do so.
You are a beauty,
that every season only dreams of at their focal point,
but breaks from the cocoon before they're ready.
You are so cold,
but every day when you appear in blankets and blizzards,
you warm my heart with your frigid calligraphy.

But only you, only you.

You mean well,
but you anger a busy-body who hisses at your abilities
of creating the most scenic of lovely displays.
You mean well,
but you sadden a weary soul who feels the same as you
and wonders how their cold heart could thaw in your grasp.
You mean well,
but you injure people with your touch, and although it's not intended,
people have died in your soft arms as if falling into a polar vortex.

But only you, only you.

You are beautiful.
You are a magic that feels like only I can behold, that with song,
I make you appear and stay with me for a while.
You transform.
You are a masterpiece, a snippet of song, a work of art; a creation
that I can be inspired by and construct, and change, and change again.
You are someone.
You become a person, birthed by nature, given parts of tree and twig
and rock and garden, wondering if you realize it rains your flesh...

But only you, only you.

Only you know.
Only you know, sweet snow.

-LJ
22 December 2016

Tomorrow

"Tomorrow" (1,507 words)

-LJ

8 November 2016 & 18 December 2016

(word count, counted using wordcounter.net)

[I wrote this during episodes of my own depression]
[not a poem, I know] [this is different than what I usually post here]
[short story] [first person point-of-view of another]
[Trigger Warnings: suicidal thoughts, depression, self-loathing, anxiety]

~~~~~~~

Tomorrow, I said.  Tomorrow, it would be better.  Maybe.  Tomorrow was only fragments of time away; hours ticking into minutes into seconds into drops of rain from the sky above me.  Tomorrow was so close, but it was so far.  Tomorrow, in my mind, the world would forgive and forget. Tomorrow, the world would come to its senses and begin anew.  Tomorrow was full of promise, but full of tribulation.

Tomorrow was just a word. It was a word used to describe a day that was not today. But, if today is yesterday's tomorrow, then why was yesterday even a day that led to today?  Why was yesterday's tomorrow such a shitty day? Would tomorrow be such a terrible day that it would be just like today? If tomorrow was only moments away, I was both ready and terrified for it.

Nighttime had crept slowly, but longer nights were around the corner.  The moon shines into this room of glass walls and satin curtain.  The bed was not my favorite place anymore; it only brought me flashbacks and a torture that no one understood traumatized me, and probably will for the rest of my life.  The clothes I wore hugged me so tightly, but taking them off only brought the sensation of bugs crawling into my skin.  The pain I was feeling was unbearable, but the thought of anymore medication coursing through my veins became the venomous snake bite I feel like I could go without for this one night.

What had I done?  I had done nothing, and yet, I am at fault for everything.  I am a warlock, sentenced to death by hanging. Today, the noose was an invisible necklace, as the muffled sound of people talking and trying desperately to grab my attention as I continued fading in and out of my head.  Today, the noose hugged my neck as tightly as the cuffs that kept my hands to my back, causing bruises and scars so many yesterdays ago.  Today, the noose was the closest I had to feeling anything.

I was alone.  I had no one.  I mean, of course I was surrounded by so many people, but I don't believe anyone understood this death sentence of mine.  Sure, I still have some life left to live, but what life was there to live?  I was hung, and the whole world watched as I silently accepted my fate and maintained my cry of innocence.  And, sure, I had family and friends who support me through this trial, but do they really know-- do they really understand-- what this all has done to me?

Tomorrow was Judgement Day.  Tomorrow, I am either imprisoned behind cold metal bars, or free to go about the rest of my life.  Tomorrow, the world will watch as several heinous counts against me are given their verdict.  I wanted it to all be over, but I knew tomorrow was inevitable, and so was Judgement Day.  I promised them I would be sound; that I would be ready to keep living freely, or say goodbye to my family forever.

There was a knock on the door.  My frail frame, still frozen in the darkness of this room, wondered whether or not to answer.  Oh.  The cook.  Offering to cook me something.  Again.  I stayed quiet to give the impression that I was sleeping, since it was nighttime anyway.  I feared being caught red-handed, but I did not want to eat.  My appetite was completely gone, and the mere thought of eating only made me want to vomit.  There goes the cook.  Footsteps going away from my door. Alone, again, at last.

My child is crying.  My poor baby is crying for me.  God only knows that I was crying for my poor baby- my poor babies.  This thought of them having to go on without me hurts so much.  I wanted so much to leave my room, to hold each of them in my arms, wind up their music box and hum while it played a lullaby.  I wondered if my babies knew I was hurting.  I wonder if they noticed something different about me.  Do they still love me?  Oh, how I wanted to tell them, right now, how much they mean to me. But, I was still frozen here, in this darkness, in this room... until tomorrow.

What if tomorrow brought me to my knees, and I was faced with the rest of my life in stone?  At their young ages, would they understand that I was innocent; that I never did what they accused me of?  Would they be able to associate themselves with me, calling me their parent?  What if they grew up and looked back, and then hated me?  God, I'm so afraid of what tomorrow will bring.

I'm so afraid of what tomorrow will bring, that I find myself thinking, "what if tomorrow... didn't happen?"  It was still today, after all.

I'm crying. I'm still standing, somehow, but my vision is clouded by tears that will not be broken down by the dam of my eyelids.

I wanted it to be over.  I felt so out-of-control, but managed to keep my silence.  I was dizzy. I was nauseated. I was alone. I was waging a full-scale war between body and mind.  I was trembling.  I was spinning.  I was drowning.  I was going down, down, down, into the whirlpool of faltered sensation.  I was suffocating.  The noose gets tighter and tighter.  I remember.  The pain medicine.  I took a little more this morning than I should have.  A little.  A lot.  I grimaced.  I felt the dam finally break.  Tear after tear. Salt water. Drowning. Drowning. Falling. False names. Medicine. Quietness. Sensory deprivation.  Sleep deprivation.  Sleep.

Tomorrow, I said.  Tomorrow, at this point, would never come.  I felt my heart beat intensely with each gasp of air I took.  I couldn't breathe.  I was hopeless. I was lost. I was sad.  I was sedated. Before I knew it, the moon disappeared, and the world that surrounded me fell away.

Tomorrow, the world would know what they did to me.  The names they called me, the stories they wrote, the words they yelled into my ears; they would see that it was the noose that tightened around my neck each day.  The warlock is dead, and it only took him twelve years to die.  We did it, ya guys.  We fucking goddamn did it.

Tomorrow, I would finally be at peace.  Sure, I'd be gone, but they could live without me.  They could live without the trail of broken glass and garnished life that follows me like a shadow tearing violently at the seams and about to be ripped apart once more.  They could live without having to look me in the face and see how much I have changed over the years and, I know that they think to themselves, "what the fuck has he done to himself?  He's not the same anymore.  Why did he do that?".  They could live without me, they could live no longer shunned by my life and lack thereof, and they could live without any future I thought was actually just a verdict away, whether or not it leads to an acquittal or a false conviction.

Tomorrow, I thought.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow was a dream that I could not interpret, nor did I want to.  It was a nightmare of torture in what could be one of Hell's most terrifying of dungeons, and it was the sweetest dream of peace in the waters of Heaven that, with the suffering I've endured, I could baptize myself in them and the pain would drain from my spirit.

Tomorrow was everywhere and anywhere.  It was in my waking and my sleeping, my days and my nights, my good times and my bad, my sun and my moon, my stars and my clouds, my parents and my children, my loud and soft, my pain and my peace. Tomorrow was something I couldn't avoid, no matter what my fate is, and whether it is only twenty-four hours long or an infinity long is something I will not know until my sight is restored to me.

Tomorrow, I said.  Tomorrow would never come.  I was so convinced I rid the world of my presence for the greater good that tomorrow actually came.  Tomorrow greeted me with the sun through the glass and pushed away satin curtains. Today was tomorrow, and that meant today was yesterday. I was on the floor, still in yesterday's clothes, still in yesterday's grasp, wondering why I was still here. The clock read that it was very early into this... "tomorrow".  A new dread filled me now; the dread of being late to what my "tomorrow" was destined to be. I took off yesterday's clothes and put on today's outfit, which, my sight was still groggy, and I didn't exactly see what I chose, although it was brightly colored.

Tomorrow, I whispered to myself.  Tomorrow is here, and tomorrow is now.

Today.

Sometimes

Sometimes, I am the monster

underneath my bed.

Sometimes, I am the vicious voices

loud inside my head.

Sometimes, I am the pain

that causes me to cry.

Sometimes, I am the silent thought,

screaming a plea to die.

Sometimes, I am the energy,

or lack thereof.

Sometimes, I am the one

unworthy of love.

Sometimes, I am the one

who feeds lost appetite.

Sometimes, I am the darkness

of the day and of the night.

Sometimes, I am the sleeping 

too little or too much.

Sometimes, I am the lover

with caressing, loving touch.

Sometimes, I am the monster

beside me in my bed.

Most times, I am the monster

of depression in my head.

-LJ

16 December 2016

Feeling

I feel the burning in my chest,
the feeling of Hell in my eyes,

as these tears fall and swell my eyes.
I feel the pain 

of a million sledgehammers in my head,
the feeling of 

my bones cracking beneath my skin,
as abrasion after abrasion

 becomes silent, hidden expression.
I feel the injection in my arm,

the feeling of rejection
of everything good in this world,

as comfort and nourishment
escape my faint, yet firm grasp;

the feeling of this white elephant known as I,
who dwells in my own soul, only wants to be held.

-LJ

15 January 2015

[written during a long-ago 

episode of depression]

Love, be sweeter

Love, be sweeter than any music

that has ever made, ever created.

Music, be kinder than any feeling

that the minor key has fated.

Feeling, be gentler than any hand

that has ever held my fragile face.

Hand, be more creative than any soul

that has ever been embraced.

 

Soul, be freer than any prison

that's created by the mind.

Prison, be broken of the thoughts

that have been left behind.

Thoughts, be braver than any voice

could so appear to say.

Voice, be louder than any prayer

that is said this very day.

 

Prayer, be stronger than any poem

that the poet's and writers write.

Poem, be prettier than any star

that shines all through the night.

Star, be brighter than any light

so that we can find our home.

Light, be fuller inside our souls

so we know we're never alone.

-LJ 

30 November 2016

Frigid Air

This morning, my feet are cold,
and my arms and legs asleep;
they feel so numb and lifeless,
but still some life they keep.

My hands and fingertips, like icicles,
pretend to know the words,
that I want to say so loud
but never will be heard.

The frigid air was brutal
as the sun shone on that day; and
gave clouds and socks and hat and gloves,
some warmth, in some odd way.

-LJ

23 November 2016

The Night's Embracing

The night welcomes all

with arms extended,

as if parent embracing child,

child embracing spirit,

spirit embracing Abba,

Abba embracing His world,

His world embracing us;

as the night stands, arms extended,

to embrace our sleepy heads

and keep us safe and warm

as the humming of twinkling

and twinkling of glistening

and glistening of moonlight

and moonlight of starlight

lulled us, sailed us,

unto peaceful slumber.

The night continued holding,

with arms around us,

performing symphonies of clear skies,

clear skies to the Father,

and Father proclaimed,

proclaimed His will be done,

be done in midst of night's embrace;

night's embrace of protection,

protection from the wicked,

and the wicked be banished,

and the banished be wicked,

while Father- Abba -holding

in His arms, the sweet sleeping,

and the sweet sleeping protected

in night's embracing.

-LJ

23 November 2016

the lamb & the shepherd

one morning, while awaking,
a little lamb saw a shepherd,
and heard His gentle call.

still in dream, but slowly blinking,
the little lamb felt loved;
loved and somewhat complete.

the shepherd found the lamb,
and took His little one back home,
singing softly of Heaven.

the little lamb asked:
"How do I love You,
He, who is all true?"

the shepherd replied:
"As you would
the world around you."

the little lamb asked:
"Have I found You,
my savior?"

He held the little lamb
close to Him, and responded:
"You have. Be at peace."

~LJ
7 November 2016

a piece of my heart

I took a little piece of my heart,

and gave it to you.

Did you hear the deafening cries it made

when your too-tight grasp

shattered it?

Tomorrow, the pieces

 shall mend,

and my heart shall be whole again.

But, I become weary to 

love another.

I took a little peace of my heart,

and gave it to something greater.

Did you hear the relief

when my faltered soul

filled with song?

-LJ

7 November 2016

Buildings

I often dream about being lost in huge buildings.
These buildings I dream of have have beauty interior,
although they possess exterior protected by weathered brick.
Some buildings, however, are crumbling, and
sometimes I am in them as they are being demolished.
I am standing in the buildings, observing celebration,
such as the graduation of my inner child; or conflict,
such as my battle between happiness and depression.
I dreamed last night that I was in a building, lost,
but familiar with the place I once learned how and what.
I dreamed of clothes and plush toys, and losing consciousness.
I dreamed of the protection inside the building
as the quirky man ran over to catch my fragile body
before it was able to hit the cold concrete ground-
eyes fluttering as patterns of triangles on blue walls
captured my attention- and his distorted and blurry voice
asking if I was okay, and if I had been so tired that I was not aware
that I was sitting in only the highest chair, looking up, up, up.
I dreamed of clothes and plush toys, and finally getting help.
I dreamed of the people around me, holding me close,
while I cried that my life was in shambles and I couldn't take any more-
slowly walking with a friend, a mentor, who taught me to use
the voice that had so unexpectedly been accepted, although
I was still afraid it wasn't good enough for projecting- and
love filled the building as the long letters of recommending assistance
with the inner mechanisms of my mind and dirty clothes
and scattered plush toys and patterns of walls and crumbling buildings
and buildings already gone and new buildings rising and dreaming-
I woke up- and remembered everything about what it means
to care for the little girl and care for the big girl that is I.

-LJ
23 October 2016

Common

I woke up.  

After everything,

 I was awake.  

My frail frame, 

struggling to pick itself up,

 and my pale skin, 

yearning for 

the light of common day.  

But nothing 

was ever common... 

not after that.

  

-LJ

17 October 2016

i heard the soft sound of rain once.

I heard the soft sound of rain once,

and it sounded like the pitter-patter

of staccato fingers to antique keys,

as every ebony and ivory pitch

created scars of beauty into

the ears in which it found sanctuary.

LJ

20 October 2016

If I Ever Knew Myself

If I ever found myself

from the maze inside my brain,

I would take this newfound knowledge

and be myself again.

If I ever saved myself

from the bullies in my mind,

I would not listen to their voices

and leave them all behind.

If I ever knew myself,

from what myself knows now,

I would take back my simple life

and decide what I'd allow.

If I ever keep myself,

from letting demons in,

I would care for body, soul,

and not let evil win.

-LJ

18 October 2016

Parasite

A fickle fight, you bring to my troubled mind!
The way you shut me down and wear me out
is a tactic I wish you no longer were capable of.

Such cruel suggestions, you whisper in my ear!
The way you persuade and masquerade
is a voice I wish you no longer possessed.

Yesterday, to fight your wicked schemes,
I wrapped right ankle, left wrist, with long ribbon,
so I could dance around you and feel peace within myself.

Great persistence, you keep your solemn ground!
The way you attach to me like a parasite
is a burden I wish you no longer had upon me.

-LJ
18 October 2016

The Sun & I

The sun looks friendly, 

but I am still afraid—

the chipper chirping

rings in my ear

like white noise

drilled into the drywall

of my skull.

The sun looks kind,

but I am still weary—

the light of day

blinds my poor eyes

like grotesque images

that won't leave me.

The sun looks beautiful,

but I am still inferior—

the stellar star, 

incomparable by far,

looms over me

like the storm cloud ahead.

The sun looks fearless,

but I am still afraid.

The sun looks on,

but I am still weary.

The sun looks so inviting,

but I am still waiting

for the day when I

see the sun, and

greet him with open arms.

-LJ

15 October 2016

Shadow Man

Shadow Man, with long dark arms, and long dark legs,

tall as any given fear;

why have you come to me, however far

however near?

Is your joy in frightening me, in any way,

in any shape or form?

Is your hiding place inside my thoughts,

in my catastrophic storm?

Shadow Man, you know very much,

all of me there is to know;

of every trickling tear when hands

refuse to let me go.

Pinning me down, stripping me

right on solid ground,

your forceful possession of my detection

steals my sight and sound.

Shadow Man, I must say

your anonymous face, so dead

has taken form, intimidating me as you place

the gun against my head.

Your knack to twist the scene and take

each book off the shelf,

as it is replaced with the sight of mirrors

and frames of me killing myself.

But, Shadow Man, you've not come back

in quite the longest time.

Why not, my precious nightmare, creator

of only what is mine?

Perhaps you're still a Shadow Man, waiting,

for the time so right

that you could creep inside my thoughts, inside my dreams,

and give me Hell another night.

-LJ

6 & 7 October 2016

Immersed

I am immersed in 

the music I am singing;

as if the pleasant sound

and words continued bringing

it simple melodies

and dissonant harmonies.

I am drowning in

the poems that I am writing;

as if the words I want to say

and ways I felt were fighting,

conveying what I want to say

to the world today.

I am embraced in

the waltz that I am dancing;

as if the love inside me

is finally advancing

the one I am to hold-

and so my heart, unfold.

-LJ

15 September 2016

The Bird In The Storm

A few days ago, 

the clouds,

in many shades of grey

huddled together,

as the wind picked up

and blew the autumn leaves around.

In the breeze,

a bird-

a single bird,

was flying high above me,

all alone,

flying away.

In the storm

of this bustling life,

and the breeze 

of situations,

I was the lonely bird,

trying to fly away,

find shelter,

and wonder

when there will be

peace and sunny skies

once more.

-LJ

 14 September 2016

10 September 2016

I am of no use;
what am I to do,
but stand back
and wonder:
"How will you use me, my God?"

I hear the angels sing,
and my ears ring
in total jubilee
as I ask:
"Is this how You will use me, my God?"

I find the tools one day
to go along my way
and do Your will
as I realize:
"This is how You will use me, my God."

This is how You will use me.

-LJ
10 September 2016

Love The Way, I

“I love the way” (10 June 2016) (a poem by me)

I like the way the rain feels on my skin;
the way I sigh when the gray sky gets darker and darker.

How do the little things
like hugs that feel like
blankets soft and warm
and kisses that feel like
sparks flying everywhere
feel like the darkest day?

The rain - my tears
of unfathomable loneliness,
and the little things - absent affection,
stare me down with stained glass eyes,
telling me I was never meant
to be in love, to be loved.

I love the way
the rain feels on my skin,
and I love the way
the blankets and sparks feel on my fragile body.
I love the way
I fit into my own arms,
and I love the way
I break my own heart.
I love the way
I love stuffed animals,
and I love the way
they help me sleep.

I like the way
depression makes me see what is really there,
and I love the way
I love myself in the place of someone else.

 (-LJ
10 June 2016)

i like to imagine myself dancing

I like to imagine myself dancing.
I can dance, just not very well.
But sometimes, I imagine myself dancing.

I imagine the swiftness and the gentility
of my feet across the floor,
and how the cooler air feels against warm blushing cheeks.

I close my eyes, and envision a dream;
a partner, a someone to dance with.
I imagine your invisible arms that are now extended,
inviting me into sweet embrace.

“Come dance with me.” you tell me.
I take your hands, and you smile so beautifully.
I imagine your embrace to be the only embrace;
the embrace I long for, and never want to leave.
I imagine the music is the singing of birds at night,
and the rhythm is the beating of our hearts.

Alas, even in imagination,
I tire, for my mind is also a sleepy place,
and I now imagine us lying side by side,
dreaming of dancing 

in the most beautiful place, 

together, just you and me.

But for now, 

I imagine myself dancing,
and wait for you.

-LJ 

12 July 2016

Sleep. I Awake.

Sleep.
I awake,
suddenly
choking.
The smoke;
it causes
my lungs
to collapse.

I just
heard a bird.
It sounded as if
it was perched
on my arm-
I froze;
my eyes,
dry and
bloodshot,
as every
little noise
frightens me.

I sleep
more
and more.
I shut down
more
and more.
Sleep.

-LJ

25 & 26 August 2016

These Hands

These hands
were made for grabbing,
and these arms
were made for holding.
These hands
were not made for being an abuser
and these arms
were not made for being a victim

of you.

These eyes
were made for seeing
and these ears
were made for listening.
These eyes
were not made for being full of silent tears,
and these ears
were not made for listening to you,

the negative thought.

These lips
were made for expression,
and this tongue
was made for tasting.
These lips
were not made to feel dry and deserted,
and this tongue
was not made to taste nothingness

of nothing.

This voice
was made for song,
and this voice
was made for crying.
This voice
was not made for singing quietly,
and this voice
was not made to not be heard

when I am needy.

This body
was made so I could live,
and this soul
was made so that I could be.
This body
was made so I could stay strong,
and this soul
was made so I could handle the world

one day at a time.

-LJ
8/25/16

Peace

For the first time in a while, I felt something I hadn't.
It was something I could only describe as the soft clouds that accent the sky.
Or, the way the multitude of stars guide lost souls back home.
It was the soft grass that, when I laid on it, caressed my entire being; and it was the beautiful flowers that began to color my soul.
It was the soundscapes of tomorrow, and last night's lullabies, and bedtime stories that I just couldn't resist replaying in my imagination because they were just too amazing.
It was the lingering sounds of cathedral bells I heard in a dream long time ago, accompanied by visions of midwinter, and the scripture of stained-glass windows.
It was every little touch; every soothing and gentle stroke of the head, every time invisible arms wrapped close around me, keeping me safe.
It was the calming scent of lavender, and the little plush animal that has been at my bedside since only a few years ago.

It was peace.  And as soon as I realized what presented itself to me, it left my feeble grasp.

The last few weeks have proven to be rough.
There have been days where I have isolated myself out of choice for the best, and days where I have isolated myself because "no one wanted to deal with it, so to go to your room until you do".
There have been days where I could not find the motivation to get out of bed, and days where I would go back to my bed not even three hours after getting out of it.
There were nights that I was so irritable, I snapped at everyone and didn't realize I had done so and sounded so angry.
There were moments I felt such guilt, I wished not to be seen, and moments that I felt such grief, I wished not to be heard.
I found myself crying for no reason, except for unexplained feelings of sadness.
I found myself drowning.  Drowning in thoughts of worthlessness, helplessness, loneliness.
I found myself drowning in the numbing tingles of when I looked down and thought my feet had turned blue... that my entire body was beginning to become painted in the blueish-gray I thought colored my feet.
I found my muscles growing incredibly tense, my hands becoming fidgety and scratching my scalp, my head, my arms, trying to brush off the inevitable panic, and my breathing picking up, up, and away, until I was swept up into the darkness.

But I didn't understand.
In the midst of depression, why did I suddenly feel peace?
Why did I suddenly begin to giggle with a cat walked on my back and then lay at my feet?
Why did I suddenly feel like painting beautiful scenic views (and my art skills suck), slow-dancing in the middle of my bedroom by myself, only illuminated by the nightlight, or singing the blues away?
Why did every thought suddenly become a poetic line in the catacombs of my frazzled mind?

Why did this feeling leave so quickly?
I wonder, but for now, I thank my lucky stars that my eyes lit up for the first time in weeks, and that they can close with the gift of a peace that left me too quickly but was still a wonderful gift to receive.

-LJ
19 June 2016, 5:26am

The Music Clock

Maybe it began
when the circle of fifths
didn't look like a clock.
Or, when I heard buzzing clicks
as I waited for the tick - tick - tock
of the music clock.

Maybe it began
when the click -click- clock
had no hands at all
to tell the shoes and the socks
and the shiny red ball
"don't forget to call."

Maybe it began
when the circle of fifths
and the hand-less clock
began telling myths
and silenced the tock
of the music clock.

Maybe it began
when I overslept,
but I still kept
the tears I wept,
and the shiny red ball,
and the number to call,
and the shoes and the socks,
and the tick - tick - tock
of the music clock.

-LJ

June 2016

Lavenders & Violets

One day,
in my imagination,
I was looking at flowers.
Lavenders
and violets
on cloudy days
looked
simply
beautiful.
Sometimes,
I imagine
myself
picking them
and taking in
their soothing fragrance,
feeling numb enough
to only find myself
in the cloudy day.

-LJ
5 August 2016

The Sweater

It's ninety degrees,

and I'm wearing a sweater

because my body's getting cold-

as if everything is slowing down,

and I am growing weaker

by the second.

I am tired; let me rest

and recollect my thoughts

as I wrap my arms around me,

being the source of my affection,

love, and protection.

The sweater is white,

knitted, and has holes

to keep me breathing.

 My arms are open wide,

but there's pain where there

should be someone that cares.

I am afraid; let me go,

for I can't keep on waiting.

They'll come for me,

and want the things that I can't give them,

because I haven't got them.

-LJ

5 August 2016

Dear heart, be still;

Dear heart, be still;

for when comes your final breath,

so will tell untimely death,

and I don't believe

that I could breathe

in this lonely world in me

without you.

Dear heart, be still;

for when I listen to your voice,

so will my whole body rejoice,

and fall into slumbler here,

as I'm flooded with your tears

that you kept hidden for years,

your soul, so dear.

Dear heart, be still;

for when your humble nature's drained,

so my entire soul is pained,

and wallowing in earth so deep

as taking you is sweetest sleep

and taking part of me to keep

with you, to dream.

Dear heart, be still;

for seven years have come and gone,

and I  still hear your gracious song,

and I still feel your love and laughter

and the happiness that you're after

will show itself in life so dear,

that, to me, brings you back here.

Dear heart, be still;

for I know you have been through Hell

and that's a story I can't bear to tell,

and I believe

that I couldn't breathe

and my heart would tear
at the sight of you

so vulnerable and bare.

Dear heart, be still;

and know
I love you so.

Dear heart, be still.

-LJ

25 June 2016
19 July 2016

Sleepy Bird

Sleepy bird, how is it that you
are able to do the things you do,
with a smile and just as much
grace and beauty, song and such?
Is it that you're much too known
for all the heights you've ever flown?
Or maybe it's from the nests you've sewn,
or all the lives you've helped and grown.

Sleepy bird, how is it that you
are able to carry the strife you do,
with all the world's unending love
and wonders up from Heaven 'bove?
Is it that you know to speak
and touch the soul of every peak?
Or maybe it's the way you hear
the crying, fears, as you comfort tears.

Sleepy bird, how is it that you
are able to know me like you do,
with sincerity and big ol' eyes
and knowledge of knowing how to fly?
Is it that you can teach me how
to follow my dreams, even now?
Or maybe, perhaps, we could teach
each other to grasp the dreams we strive to reach.

-LJ

15 July 2016

The Dreams

I loved the dreams where I

could feel the rain on my face,

where every time you embraced me,

I could feel my heart race,

and I loved the dreams when you

told me "I love you",

so that I could blush and whisper

that "I love you, too".

I loved the dreams where we

could just be as we are,

and I loved the dreams where we

could count every star.

Because I loved the dreams

where I could just be free,

and I loved the dreams when you confessed

you were in love with me.

But I know you by voice,

nothing less, nothing more.

And I love the dreams you weave for me;

a love worth dreaming for. 

-LJ

17 June 2016

A Spirit

If your spirit came to me,

how would you appear?

I imagine your perfect body

as you approached me here.

Your smile would shine so brightly,

your eyes would be sincere.

You can be anywhere you want to be,

whether far or near.

You can be the dream I dream,

the one that kills all fear.

 Your arms, now tight around me

 as it then became so clear:

if your spirit came to me,

I know how you'd appear.

-LJ

30 May 2016

The Invisible Weight

I'm incredibly tired.  Somehow, my body has relaxed and my eyelids are heavy.  But my eyelids haven't been the only thing feeling heavy in my world. 

Today, my entire world carried a heaviness, as if an invisible weight had been put on my shoulders, getting heavier until I felt as though it would pull me down to the floor.  Every door I opened created a heavier air.

Today, my entire world carried a heaviness, as if someone was about to die, and the invisible weight on my shoulders was that I knew them.  They could be family, they could be friend; they could be someone I know.

Today, my entire world carried a heaviness, as if an invisible weight of visible contact crushed me, causing me to fret.  The thought of someone close simply being too close for comfort. The weight of socialization on spot.

Today, my entire world carried a heaviness, as if the invisible weight caused me to...

Sleep.  Sleep deeply.  Sleep deeply, to let my subconscious mind listen to whatever the heaviness had to say.  It places in my subconscious mind, great anxiety, that will surely cause me to weaken in place, unable to move.

Today, my entire world carried a heaviness.  As I try to stay awake to fix the weight of sleeping during the day and staying awake at night, I knew that the only heaviness I wanted to feel was that of deep relaxation.

I knew that the only way I was going to be rid of the heaviness was if I made it long enough to bear its lingering effects.

As I attempted to shift the weight from my shoulders to some other part of me, I found that it just wasn't working, and I knew I had to do something.

And fast.

But the invisible weight of my world was too much.

And I crashed, the very moment I tried to fly.

-LJ
29 May 2016

Walking on a Computer Keyboard (A Poem by My Cat)

uhhhhhh

yyyyy;

yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

6.

~LJ's Cat, Shadow~

30 May 2016

(my cat did not add

 any of the punctuation,

nor separate this into stanzas.  ;D)

I yield to the calm before the storm,

I yield to the calm before the storm,

to the raging tears and anger during it,

and the sight of what lingers after.

I am enthralled in the way 

the clouds get so dark and heavy,

the way the wind begins to pick up,

the way the sounds of chirping birds

turn to audible earthquakes.

I observe, from a safe place,

the birds and the puddles,

the sounds and the breaking

of threads too thin to even see.

But, I give way to the calm of the storm,

thinking not what lies ahead.

For now, imagining, in my little head,

what causes Him to weep once more.

Imagining, in my little head,

what message the peacefulness gives for me
through the calm before the storm,
listening quietly, listening firmly,
waiting for a strike of lightening
to reveal to me the peace He means.

-LJ

29 May 2016

Dulcet

He's been waiting for her arrival,

down the long and darkest hall, rattling in her waking shriek

as he sees her body fall, curling tightly in defeat.

He greets her calmly, helps her up,

knowing well what she seeks, knowing well what she's seen,

knowing well why she's so weak, knowing how to intervene.

He knows just how to do it.

A pocket-watch to gaze upon, so her eyelids dull,

so she dreams until dawn, so her body will lull.

He leads her somewhere
where her little heart can rest, where her little head can lay,
where her little mind can test the feeling of peace today.
He knows she'll sleep so soundly
when her eyes soon close, to dreams of Heaven's skies,
and calming river's flow, and many butterflies.

He watches as her body

melts into the softest sheet, her eyes following the locket

with a look so sweet, as the watch returns to his pocket.

He whispers in her ear

that she's worthy of love, that she is his sweetheart,

that she, his little dove, will never part.

He sings so very quietly

a song with dulcet tone, a lullaby to remind her

she will never be alone, as she spirals into slumber.

-LJ

26 & 29 May 2016

Detached

Detached,
as if suspended,
I feel the air leave my grasp,
and run away.
Detached,
as if submerged,
I feel the air leaving my lungs
and become part of the universe.
Detached,
as if exploding,
I feel the air burn my body
and become ash.
Detached,
as if resting,
I feel the air restored to me,
and sleep in peace.

-LJ

14 December 2014

Three Haiku in Three Minutes

Ten eighteen P M.

Almost time for bed; yes sir!

My eyes slowly close.

Ten nineteen P M.

Time for sleeping and dreaming,

but thoughts fill my head.

Ten twenty P M.

 Thoughts of what tomorrow brings

keep me up awhile.

Ten twenty-one.

-LJ
15 May 2016

The Sea of Hands

In a blurry half-sleep, the early spring chill

decided to keep me sitting quite still.

For in this cold morning, the sea of hands,

was cheering, roaring, in this inside land.

The flashes of light from every direction,

though not on my sight, but in my detection.

The stillness, in stands, as I sit and I gleam,

watched the sea of hands rejoice in true dreams.

And one moment passes, the bands are now playing,

another moment, the masses are fervently praying.

A minute, a voice, too much flashing light.

An hour, more voice; I suddenly fright.

Then it is done; it all disappears.

But how? Help me, someone; it's just not quite clear.

The lights have stopped flashing, the voices now quiet,

while explosions of sound are still not quite silent.

My mind wanted peace and out of this place,

while expressions of happiness shone on my face.

But in this half-sleep, the song of the sands

is now slowly winnowed by the sea of hands.

-LJ

13 May 2016

Daydreams

I wake from a dream
I dreamed in the day.
I slept while the sunlight
kept clouds away.
I painted a picture
of someone in prayer,
while an angel stood by
and prayed with her there.
I wrote a sweet poem,
of love and of life.
I wrote a short story
of triumph from strife.
 I could be, I could do
anything and all.
I could be big and brave.
I could be shy and small.
For I, still a child,
an innocent one,
ponder in daydream
what I can become.

-LJ
11 May 2016

Nightmares

Wonders of the night
keep me wide awake,
and nightmares slowly, now,
take their form and shape.
Of all the frightening images
that scream in high-pitched tears,
instill in me the greatest
of my fears.
My fragile heart can't bear it;
my innocence, it shatters.
I cry; I long for comfort
that no longer matters.
Why has thou forsaken me?
Why has thou gone away?
Save me from these nightmares;
this, I pray.

-LJ

10 May 2016

Faith

Without a heart for any Being,

but love, my eyes are only seeing.

Without a faith to call my own,

but having faith in faith alone.

In thought, I think of hands that raise,

in faith that I shall come to praise.

With innocence to know above all doubt,

this faith of angel's dreams I know about.

Without pressure or anger rise,

my faith appears before my eyes.

And with a love, above all odds,

I call to God.

-LJ

7 May 2016

Junk-Food Haiku

So much food today.

Three straight classes of junk food.

My stomach expands.

-LJ

5 May 2016

Another day passes

Another day passes.

The world becomes a different place,

in a sense of not knowing reality

nor the truth of it all.

It unravels the harshness

of all that is unholy,

of all that is gracious,

and all that is deceitful.

The "wonderful" world was no longer

the reality of my dreams,

but in turn, the depression

that sunk into my soul

soiled any hope of the change

of the world in which

was paved in stinging sharp glass

and clouds of gray and black.

And I turned around, not knowing

anything else, but the desolate

places in my heart, and my world.

-LJ

5 May 2016

A Prayer of Small Things

In Your name, I ask of Thee

to grant each mind the gift of peace,

the confidence to move the mountains

and bathe in Heaven's calming fountains.

I ask of Thee to give each thing

the courage of the song we sing,

the innocence that knows mankind

will never leave the last behind,

the worst of us to shine on through

so that our good shines bright to You.

Although there's things I'm not proud of,

Your forgiveness will always overcome.

Now, in Your name, I ask of Thee,

to hear my prayer of smallest things.

In Your name, I ask of Thee

to grant the gift of strength, 

the gift of love, the gift of peace.

Amen.

-LJ

4 May 2016

.

My Feets Need Sleeps

I've been on my feet
all afternoon long,
and I had enough strength
to sing one more song

before I got home.
I took off my shoes,
I took off my socks,
which were two shades of blue
(didn't even match my blue scarf, mind you).

My feets need sleeps,
and I also need sleep.
So goodnight until tomorrow,
when I go help and keep

working on an opera set
to make it the best...
but for now,
my feet need to rest.

A. Men.
*thumbs up*

-LJ

23 April 2016

I Wonder as I Wander (What Today Shall Bring)

I wonder, as I wander, 

what today shall bring. 

Has it wonders of the summer? 

Has it breezes like the spring? 

Has it temper like the winter? 

Has it pleasure like the fall?

 Has it any of the seasons 

or sunrise at all?

I wonder, as I wander,

when today will begin.

Will it be when eyes open,

or feeling deep within?

Will it be when ears capture voices

of birds, or songs, or doors?

Will it be when gentle touch

trembles evermore?

I wonder, as I wander,

in this dream of mine,

today will bring much joy,

and love, and tender time.

I wonder, as I wander,

in this dream tonight,

today begins when seasons

sprightly wake the sense of light.

-LJ

2 & 4 May 2016

The Wind

Something in the wind said 

that it would rain today.

 The raindrops fell upon my head,

 the ground, wet, beneath my feet,

 with sudden thought to pray. 

The wind swayed every tree and plant 

to laugh and sing and dance. 

The raindrops fell in rhythm,

 the ground, so slick, and glistening, 

with sudden second chance. 

The wind, at once, began to pray;

 in its own way, thanking Him. 

The raindrops fell upon His land,

the ground, lifting, wherever He went, 

with sudden will and whim. 

The wind, again, began to pray 

for peace, for love, for living things

 to forgive its bouts of rage 

and tears that make the raining days 

with sudden bout to sing. 

But something in the wind said 

the sun would come today.

-LJ

2 May 2016

The lull was her love

She set forth toward the sea,
to the beautiful little town
with the golden lights in paper lanterns
and the fulfillment of life in her soul.
She took only her love.
She took only her ambition.
She took her regrets and grudges
and buried them in the sea
before her journey forward.
As she sit quietly, lulled by the boat,
she whispered the sweetest things,
as if singing calmed the seas.

The lull was her love;

he would do everything

to see to it promptly,

that she'd make it to the beautiful little town.
She was his one true love,
and he was her everything.
He gave her peace,
she gave him serenity.
They both took to the sea,
and rowed gently downstream
that led to the town,

but twas only a dream.

-LJ

4 January 2015

revised 21 & 23 April 2016

I Turned To You

When I couldn't breathe,
I turned to oxygen.
When I couldn't wake,
I turned to alarms.
When I couldn't sleep,
I turned to lullabies.
When I couldn't see,
I turned to lights.
When I couldn't feel,
I turned to pain.
When I couldn't hurt,
I turned to depression.
When I couldn't feel a thing,
I turned to you.

When I could finally feel again,

you turned to me.

-LJ

4 January 2015

revised 21 April 2016

My Brother

I wonder, what makes him 

different from the rest.

I wonder, what it is

that makes him the best. 

Is it in his voice,

so calming and sincere,

that makes me never worry,

never doubt, never fear?

Is it in his arms

that I feel quite all right,

that rocks me gently, keeps me safe,

so I may sleep at night?

Is it in his eyes

that I see his truth,

and that I see what lies within

our kindred bond of youth?
Is it 'cause he is my brother,
in spirit, not in blood,
that the love that we have shared
is love that will cause the world to flood?
I wonder, what makes him,
so vulnerable to pun,
'cause he was a pretty normal,
pretty special someone.
But he is still my brother,
whether he knows or not.
Yes, I like to believe he knows,
and I want him to know I love him a lot.

-LJ
10 & 20 April 2016 

"Feeling Weird"

When I'm "feeling weird", please don't laugh at me,

please don't chuckle to yourself, please just let me be.

Please don't force an answer, please don't pull and tug

at my broken heartstrings; but please, give me a hug.

Because I can also "feel weird"; it's not only just you.

So when you say I'm "feeling weird", I'm really feeling blue.

There doesn't have to be a reason, there doesn't have to be a time,

but when I'm "feeling weird", the bells don't always chime.

The days aren't always sunny, although it's shining high,

and nights aren't always starry with a cloudless, moonlit sky.

So ask me once more, if I'm "feeling weird",

 if I am becoming what you once were, what you now feared.

Tell me again, how I am not stressed,

that, not exact words,"I should not be depressed".

Tell me again, how "feeling weird" should not be a thing.

Tell me I can make a phone call if I can get on stage and sing.

Tell me that my "feeling weird" is such a grief on you.

Trust me, friends and family, it's grief upon me, too.

So, if you ask if I'm "feeling weird", and I don't say a word,

my silence hurts me more than it hurts you...

that should be what's heard.

-LJ

18 & 20 April 2016

Until The Sunrise

Someday,
I will know
when slumber veils my eyes,
and all the sounds
 and movements cease
until the sunrise.

-LJ
17 April 2016

Tell Me of Spring

Tell me, Heaven's sky of blue,

what will sweet sun bring?

Will it bring the honey of bees,

or flowers and leaves on trees?

Will I hear the church bells ringing,

or birds singing hymns of love,

nature, and other things

as they fly on far above?

Will my hair feel the howling wind?

Or my skin feel the warmth of the sun?

Will I feel the gentle and harsh rainfalls,

and with spring, become one?

For spring has finally arrived,

and the chills can stay away,

and may spring birth many colors

for a lovely, vibrant day.

So Heaven's skies, please tell me,

when the sun will shine,

 so that the splendors of the spring,

may also be mine.

-LJ

13 April 2016

Three Haiku About Sleep

I love to sleep. Yes.

I just want to sleep right now,

For a thousand years.

Only not really.

I have a life to live now.

But I still want sleep.

Two haiku 'bout sleep,

Something that I really want.

Must wait until 3.

-LJ

8 April 2016

The Lone Composer

The lone composer, at his piano,
thinking there,
what beauty in a chord,
intensifies this more,
and gives meaning to this life?

He sits at the piano, alone,
playing the keys,
wondering what is beautiful,
sadly what is taken,
and joyously what he creates.

He sits at the piano, alone,
writing the melody,
making sweetest sound
and moving ebb and flow
of text from poets long ago.

He sits at the piano, alone,
with something of dreams,
something of peace,
something with color
and unbreakable seams.

He sits at the piano, alone,
blessed with one of Heaven's songs,
blessed with prose of poets' minds,
blessed with something more
than what he's written before.

The lone composer, has a song,
for voices human, voices instrumental,
illustrated in music staves and notes,
ready for flight, into the night,
giving meaning to this life.

-LJ
16 March & 6 April 2016

A House in a Dream of Mine

There was a house in a dream of mine.
It was big and wooden and blue.
It was thin and beautiful and somewhat all
I remember is the living room.
It's been a while since this house I've dreamed
came up in my thoughts.
I wondered why I thought of it,
I wondered how it caught
onto the word of "dreams",
and how, in it, I feared,
that I would fall through the wood floor,
as presence after presence neared.
The basement was a dusty place,
waiting to be painted.
The stairs to it were steep and small,
the veils of beige had fainted,
into panic, as I worried,
tried to hurry up the stairs,
without getting stuck or falling,
without getting stuck... there.
Had I been in this house before,
before this long ago dream?
Had it kept my thoughts of fears alive?
I guess it does, it seems.
Because I thought of this house today,
when illness silenced voice and caused me gloom.
Because I thought of this basement
and frightening, beautiful, creaky, living room.

-LJ
6 April 2016

Procrastination

I'm supposed to be writing an English paper,
but there's much poetic creation.
I haven't slept very well these last nights,
so there's no preparation.
This paper is due tomorrow, friends,
at eleven in the morn.
Yet I have little motivation
to birth this paper born.
I've had bronchitis the last week or so,
and it's been hard to stay concentrated,
when I cough when I breathe and I'm sick all day,
but there's already so much time I've wasted.
So instead of writing my compare and contrast
on scholarships and student loans,
I'm writing a poem about procrastination,
and blaming it on broken bones.
But there are no bones broken,
and I should probably write
my 700-1250 word English paper,
so I can be done for the night.
I need to be done with this class,
and pass with motivation,
so that I can get the freaking hell
off academic probation.

-LJ
6 April 2016

A Conversation (With My Inner Child)

When you grow up, years from now, will you still sing and dance?
Will you face the world in timidness, or will you give it a chance?
Will you sleep as peaceful as you once did, although very lightly?
Will your imagination linger on, or will it shine so brightly?
Will green still be your favorite color? Will there be things from me you keep?
Will plush toys still be around you? Will lullabies still help you sleep?
Can I still be in your life, as the will to work and play?
Can I be the sunshine that lightens gloomy days?
Can I be the need to be tucked and held?
Can I be the one thing you never have to sell?
When you all grown, will someone love you very much?
Please don't let them break your heart and hurt you as such.
I promise I won't get in the way, but I will still be here.
I'll keep you safe, I really will, as long as you keep me near.
(my inner child asks innocently).

 ~

Dear Child, I am still growing up, with lots of song, not much dance.

I still face the world in timidness, but I give new things a chance.

I don't sleep as peacefully as I once did, and still sleep very lightly.

My imagination lingers on; through poems, it shines so brightly.

Purple is my favorite color, although I can't choose just one,

from you, I keep a drawing of the city and the sun.

I still love plush toys deeply, from you, some I do keep.

And yes, lullabies still very much help me fall asleep. 

I know it seems a little weird, growing up with me.

But there is so much to learn, so much to hear, so much to see.

You are my will to play, and into work, bring fun.

You are my will to want to learn to walk and run.

You are my desire to be tucked and loved and held,

and you are a cherished part of me that I can never sell.

I haven't found a someone who will love me very true,

and I will not let them hurt me, for they will hurt you, too.

You are safe, in my heart, for as long as I'm alive.

We will take the world together, with one another to survive.

(I answer my inner child confidently).

-LJ

23 March 2016

(Searching) For Answers

I wanted to know (why),

but I didn't know (how).

I wondered (where),

but I didn't know (when).

I knew (who),

but I didn't know (what).

(You see,) the world, (is)

a (rocky) place,

with (wonderful) things

so magnificent (and loving),

with (frightening) things

so heartbreaking (and upsetting). 

I searched (near and far)

for answers (that lingered inside my mind),

that I could feel (somewhat)

accepting towards (confidently).

(Had) I finally realized

(that) the answers lied

(there,) deep within my soul,

(and) the questions (of my heart)

(suddenly) falling away into the abyss(.)(?)

(Could I?)  I could go on,

(and) I could live.

-LJ

23 March 2016

The Dance We Dreamed

We dreamed a dance, a song,

much bigger than ourselves.

We were so small, and

the world was so big, 

and colorful, and... dark.

We dreamed a dance that 

soon we could not fathom,

and the dance would be forgotten,

and we couldn't even remember the tune

in which the rhythm waltzed with.

We dreamed a dance, a song

that soon replaced the dream we dreamed.

We felt so small, in this big world,

and now the world is small and

we have gotten bigger.

I never wanted to forget.

I never wanted to forget the way

the world around me shimmered with vibrant shades,

and the way that music sounded as lovely as a masquerade,

and how everything was something new to explore.

I never wanted to forget

the song I sang, nor

the dance I dreamed...

the world, a beautiful ballet.

-LJ

15 March 2016