Some Things Just Are


How can a bird expect not to fly,

Or a lion not to be feared?

How can a flower not expect to be plucked,

Or a dandelion, not be blown.

Cold is expected in the dead of winter,

And heat in the dead of summer.

A tear does not surprise a broken heart,

Nor does a smile a happy face.

And because of you,




Do not surprise me.

For how can a child of God not expect to be blessed?


My Words


Inside my mind, my words do not fight to exist, nor do they hide and refuse to make known. They do not push, they do not shove out of fear of losing their turn. They are not awkward and unsure, for they know their presence is faultless.

They are lengthy and full in existence, never lacking, never-failing to both give and receive. Inside they are safe, they are cherished, they are wanted, and they are understood. Outside does not offer comprehension. No other words out there are like them, so literal.

Elusive, protected, shallow words do not play well with validity. They bully my words and make them feel as unsubstantial  as they are.

So inside they are vast and outside they are limited, bounded, until they find an island of reciprocity, among an ocean of hypocrisy, where they step out of within and offer a world a view only they can paint.

And there on that island…finally…they are the same outside as they are inside.