God's Body

Heard somewhere that God has no hands but our hands,
help from heaven through work on earth,
The creator moving through the created for purpose

in the visible world.

 

Dope idea that the one who started this whole thing

still gives enough damns to put people in place

to keep order.

Hands of the divine no more than a step away

from our domiciles.

 

...so go ahead and give me the key...
who's to say that God ain't working through me,

that everything you need ain't in these hands

God made want you,

and with them, help elevate your body

the way ones before failed to do

because they weren't God-sent
or God-meant or God-found or God-logic,
looked to them when your skin was hungry
palms were sweaty, and
you felt full of temptation,
then full of them,
then full of sin

running over the rim
'til you begged for repentance from the same
demons that made you feel unworthy in the first place.

Your body isn't an opportunity for release,
it's relief from the mortal world,
elixir in a coke bottle,
ready to be popped...
and I'm no tree in the middle of the garden.

You weren't warned to stay away from me,
no still, small voice proclaiming my poison,
not life everlasting, but I am life,
the transference and continuation of energy,
charged and ready to receive you while you walk in the valley
sampling fruit for sustenance...

You should try me.

Find the angel within
that grew from the mess you made
trying to avoid sin.
put faith in the force
that brought us together.
God don't make mistakes,
and God made me,
and God made you,
so God made "we."

Walk away from the shadow of the garden with me,
that's not us anymore,
we are limbs from the same body...

we prove He works in mysterious ways.

 

The Soundtrack

We met to be a memory

we won't share over photo albums and international coffee...

meant to be a maybe, 

a long shot,

bad timing...

I was supposed to be collateral damage in your battle with you,

And you, slain by friendly fire in mine.

Perps and victims - 

a perfect pair.

We were supposed to undo each other's shoes 

and ask the other to stay awhile

...then put on our own shoes to run across each other's minds without rest...

We were meant to be a mess!

Complicated, not complex,

too simple to be sane.

Drunk off the thought of the start,

dangerously in extreme like,

infatuated with the fight of our wills against our fears,

holding hands to face the same monsters we met when we held hands.

Needing things the other just happens to have,

we see and intentionally don't ask.

Cause the two of us are only good for one thing,

giving each other a new song to sing,

everyday,

three minutes and thirty-eight seconds on replay.

The newest song from the newest artist on repeat

so we could get sick of the tempo and end up on delete,

Pack our beats and lyrics and walk out the door

saying to ourselves, "They don't make good music like that anymore!"

...(pronounced, "Complicated...")

She'll be sitting somewhere with him,
and she'll say,

 

"Honey, I remember
I was seeing this girl...
well...she was a woman, really...
Anyway, she was so extra!
We went out one time..."

 

Her voice will trail off somewhere,
and she'll feel the relief in the release.

 

He'll feel lucky to have found her after her experimental phase,
when drugs and drink and women were staples of her youth,
and she lived without a care for anything but her needs and memories like these she could bring up just for fun.

 

There's always life after the "living-to-the-fullest" life.

 

I hope to be the human jukebox with the oldies on repeat...

and not the over sung tune, for nostalgia's sake.

; (pronounced "Stop...for now. .."

He told me,

"You're getting too old not to have fun. Why not treat this like it's temporary...that is allowed, you know."

He's been there for every lover, so far. Not really fond of any of them, though.

He was right;  I'm too serious.

"Fun me up, then. I obviously need help with life. "

My smile wasn't real.

"Alright, " he continued, " just...fuck.  Don't...feel."

I stared off into space somewhere, laughed to myself. 

"Why didn't I think of that..."

Sarcasm on 1000.

The Big Girl Pill

You lie when you say you aren't looking for it...

Truth is it ain't looking for you,

so you pretend you let it go ages ago

because it didn't suit you.

Didn't white-dress you either,

didn't give a damn about your dreams,

called you dramatic,

felt judged by you,

tickled and teased you, 

never called back,

changed the number,

avoided your gaze...

deemed you unworthy and selfish.

...and you are selfish to want that pretty thing to yourself,

even for an hour...

it ain't meant for your kind,

meant for those with so much going on they don't notice 

when it temporarily loses interest, and slips away despite 

a best attempt to understand it.

it's meant for the strong and lusty,

the young and restless,

free-spirited beauties who don't think twice about you,

the unnoticed.

Join the throng or give up,

because to act surprised that it did what it said it would do

is beneath you.

Seven Again

Don't worry, Darlin'

I'm all outta soul; 

no need for a mate.

Just bring your best every night,

and I'll pretend I'm human every morning,

die to your naughty texts every afternoon,

and be resurrected by your voice, 

just in time to play cat-and-mouse before nightfall.

We will never get it right, unless this is it...

Otherwise we're wrong together, which isn't wrong at all.

Because who doesn't want to be us --

no sentiment,

no manners,

no bullshit,

cuz we know better now...

cuz before us, there was them,

and after us they'll be them again,

so let's seven over and over again

until eight appears to break what we repaired in each other.

FJ is only a "like" away...

Dear Facebook Jesus,

Thanks for taking time out of your busy scocial networking schedule to read this blog. No one will understand this particular conversation but you, so I thought I'd skip the all-too-familiar, attention-sucking habit of putting prayers in Facebook statuses, and dial direct...in this blog.

Truth is FJ (I hope you don't mind the nickname, but I've always felt you were my homie), I am overly irritated by people who sing your praises on social media. Prayer and praise is not social if people aren't praying and praising with you. It's personal, especially if one starts a post with "Dear God..." Or "Dear Father..." and ends with "Amen." It's all a plea for company, and if not, why would anyone put that out for the world to read unless that person wanted someone to stand in agreement with the prayer or praise? Unfortunately, there is no "stand-in-agreement" button on Facebook; the inappropriate "like" button is as good as it gets. And to "like" a prayer doesn't mean anyone agrees with the sentiment. Most people who feel inclined to say something don't want to be in the douchebag number for not giving a thumbs up to a prayer that could have been heard by God without a keyboard. You'll be happy to know I know I'm a bit douchebaggie. I keep scrolling. I think it's the honest thing to do. Like I said before...I want to be social on social networks. I don't want to be in everyone's prayer circles, especially when I don't really know what the intent of the prayer is...or who the person is really praying to.

Oh well...just a thought...you already knew before I typed it...take care.