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