Blackened Rose

We bathe in the blood of our children and call it a choice We kill innocent men and women and call it glory We demonize the poor and call them lazy We worship the rich, and covet their cash We idolize guns, and mock those who do not We imprison innocent, and non violent offenders We brutalize people based on color We murder people based on sexual orientation We call people “Snowflakes” to lift ourselves up We tear people down by calling them “Libtards” We judge people with mental illnesses, calling them weak We glorify the blood and guts of war, and call it victory We let water’s run thick with bile and infection We pass by the child on the street starving We hold our nose as we pass the man dying in the doorway We preach “God Loves you” on Sunday…but… We yell, “God hates fags” on Monday We scream about a man kneeling for the pledge … but… We wouldn’t dare protest wearing that same flag as underwear We march to save lives of babies…but… We won’t

Help me, I am the child on the streets Help me, I am the old man, and beggar  Help me, I am the widow, and the orphan Help me, I am the starving baby Help me, I am the product of war Help me, I am the fear of all men Help me, I am the results of pestilence Help me, I am the cry of the fatherless Help me, I am the heart’s cry of the destitute Help me, I am the precursor to hate Help me, I am the poster child of death Help me, I am the cause for hunger Help me, I am the cause for anger Help me, I am the opposite of the root of all evil Help me, I am the man under the bridge, starving Help me, I am the woman on the streets, holding her baby close Help me, I am the teen addicted to drugs Help me… Help me… Help me… I am Poverty

If I’m going to be Honest The way you spread your condiments Just to “mess with my OCD” Doesn’t really bother me. If I’m going to be Honest The way you talk about my depression “Just think better thoughts” Hurts more than you know. If I’m going to be Honest I can’t really just “get over” my anxiety If I could, I would have by now But I can’t.  It’s a road that I must walk. If I’m going to be Honest Some days I sleep 14 hours a day And I still don’t feel rested But that’s usual, so it’s okay. If I’m going to be Honest Some days I only sleep 2 hours And I feel completely fine So I take advantage of the energy. If I’m going to be Honest Dirty laundry has piled up for weeks While clean laundry has piled up Unfolded for almost longer. If I’m going to be Honest Condiment spreading techniques Only apply to me, and my food. So please, don’t touch my food. If I’m going to be Honest My depression is a stalking lion A lion

The guilt was overwhelming. The tears burned in her eyes. The knot in her throat started aching. In her hand, she held the knife. One strong live and it’d be over. One strong slice and it’d be done. She wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again. She’d be silenced, but depression won. She remembered how much better She had felt after the hospital. She felt loved, and happy, and free. None of which she could now understand. She journaled and wrote furiously. Her tears staining every page. She knew she didn’t deserve to But her heart with desire did wake. Desire to keep her darling husband. Who had faithfully stood by her side. While she who had been the harlot Did constantly and habitually lie. She went to get the sleeping pills. She counted them one by one. How many was enough to end it? The hurting she had done was enough. She knew she was loved, for sure She knew it was just her depression. But starring herself in the mirror Di

You're the Alpha and Omega The keeper of my heart The lover of my soul Creator of the Start. Compassionate Shepherd Steady Rock and Friend The Lion of Judah, Lamb The Finisher of the End. Prince of Peace and high Tower Lord of Lords and King of Kings Safe Refuge and Substitute You raise me up on Eagles Wings.

These Hands These hands have held babies They’ve changed their diapers too. They've bounced an infant up and down They’ve rocked a child and heard them coo. These hands have led small children in song. They’ve played, and scolded, and expressed. They’ve guided as a child lead on, They’ve comforted and wiped tears away. These hands have held young children They’ve helped color, and praised a child’s effort. They’ve lifted a young girl under her arms As she leaps into her daddy’s embrace. These hands have touched ivory keys. They’ve produced music - sometimes beautiful, and sometimes not. They’ve pounded out frustration. They’ve played out sadness, loneliness, and joy. These hands have held hands dying. They’ve embraced a daughter in tears. They’ve held the hand of someone lost, in the years Dementia stole from them. They’ve measured the fading heart beat of life’s cruel cost. These hands have helped to heal. They’ve served, an