you know him as king of one shot poetry and master of the literary word, and he humbles me by showing here his heart, a bruised man who’s cried out, “Are you?” to which God has responded, “I AM.” read on.

it’s not like it
happened overnight
but it started the
first time i chose to
swallow instead of spit
holding it in
& that little grit
took hold & began
the wall around my heart…

it was not supposed to be this way. i answered God’s call. we gave up a comfortable life, jumped the cliff of faith and said send me…and nine months later we woke up to a church divided by deceit. but he delivered me…sent me elsewhere…and then it was all over…five years in my ministry it came to the end.

Father don’t you
understand, i feel so
alone, stripped bare,
why oh why did you give
then take away…

coming home after so long away, all my friends moved on, and i was left standing on the side of the road trying to hitch a ride watching my destination get ever farther and farther. alone. tired. why. why. why. and at the end of my rope, i let go, not expecting to be caught but in spite of and embraced my anger, stuffing it in, stuffing it in, stuffing it in, until i could hold it no more…

how dare you
who do you think
you are, I AM, and
when He would not
answer i turned away…

not just Him but everyone, because i don’t need anyone, because i can, i will, show you and you and you…and i pushed my boat off from shore ready to sail away, say goodbye to any one that ever cared, even my family, might as well start a clean slate, erase, erase, erase…

no one cares any way
i had grown numb
to the pain, but it was
all self inflicted mostly
i was blind, unable to see
i screamed & cried
as some beat me with
scripture and lashed me
with guilt and i got angrier
and angrier and ANGRIER…

until a man sat down next to me and said, i been there. and then another. and they shared their naked stories of their hurt & pain & when they almost & they reminded me of what i was walking away from. and who i was, and who i am. but you don’t understand & they held the hand of the boy that was scared thinking there was no way back from hollow screaming at the edge of oblivion…

i can’t…i can’t…i can’t…
were the rumblings
in the moment before
i imploded into a
million tiny pieces,

and she held me as i lay in her lap and cried and begged forgiveness, and she loved me any way, the same way He did, annointing my head with tears, as my eyes bled rivers down her legs. i am sorry. i am sorry. I AM, sorry…

today is day 3,
and i am
not there yet,
but i am
on my way,
and I AM,
not alone.

i’m still working through your imperfect prose, friends… ((thank you for patience–long week, with editing project, then applying for passports, but friday is winding its long arms around me and i’m falling against the weekend leaning hard…)) i love you, for your offerings, and