(bonus phone poem)

he kisses him.

the rain captures him and pulls him under the covers of momentary bliss...

a sort of romantic departure, although bittersweet.

a mind too clouded by dense fogs and intoxicated by the unholy waters,

he becomes hysterical, wondering why he didn't say goodbye,

when he actually said goodnight.

-lj

sometime in april or may 2018

my mom cries ("phone poems" 3 of 3)

my mom cries

the cries of mothers,

and, full of emotion,

screams

how could this happen?

i realize

it's not just us

in our own tiny world.

it's all of us

on this green earth

turned gray.

-lj

21 june 2018

god, be ("phone poems" 2 of 3)

God, be with me.
Be by my side.
Why do I run?
Why do You hide?

God, be present
in every storm,
and in every blessing
that takes form.

God, be beauty.
Be moon and stars,
and sun and clouds,
so near and far.

God, behold,
a prayer comes through,
that one day,
I will know You, too.

-lj
19 June 2018

when all that remains is guilt ("phone poems" 1 of 3)

when all that remains
is guilt,
the bed is not made,
the room is not clean,
and the only reality i know
is that of a dark shadow
holding me like a weight to the floor,
telling me why
i am not worthy of another
why
i am not worth taking care of,
why
i am not worth the right
to this gift called life.

sure, they forgive,
but i never forget,
and i never forgive myself.

-lj
22 may 2018