Would your story be published?

The more time I have and the more quietness I get I'm almost forced into this corner of my life that makes me think and reflect on everything over and over.
The thing that keeps getting to me is this thought "If there was to be a second Bible, would my story be great enough to be put in there?"
Now, I'm not saying there is going to be one, for the Bible we have is here to last this whole life- I'm just asking myself if what I'm doing now would be something God would want to teach others about. Would I be the beggar on the steps of the synagogue, get healed and praise God for the rest of my days (hypathetically)? Or would I be used as a parable to teach how to not be, like the seeds growing among weeds?
Its hard for a lot of people, even me, to comprehend that every story can relate in a way. Its our guide, its our light.
Recently, i read the book of Revalations in all its wonder and majesticness. It's so crazy to think that that stuff will occur on the very ground we walk on. For me, since we don't know when all this is gonna go down, its hard to me to pin point what story I could be. It scares me, because I dont know how to prepare the rest of my life. Do I just drop everything to get prepared for the coming of these events to occur soon? Screw college, lets get the book of Revalations going!

If my story was in the Bible, I could only hope that it would be that I conquered my own weaknesses and sins through Jesus Christ. I pray that every day I'll grow stronger.

How it goes.

God...I why did you put me in this place? I thought I was your daughter. I thought I was something you loved and held dear.

You are my daughter and I will forever love you, you have wandered off, come back to me.

But i dont understand why you put me in these places, these dirty grity places. I need you to help me get out...

All you have to do is ask, and I am there.

These walls are getting too high. And the water keeps rising. I don't want to grab your hand, it seems too high for me to grab on to. I can't jump that high. The waters rising, I need to climb my way out.

The walls arn't climbable, the nooks and cracks you see are empty and brittle; you'll fall down further than you are now.

I have a grip. I can do this my way.

On your own you will fail.

I have friends that can help me, their rope seem just strong enough to pull me out.

Their rope is temporary. My hand is forever.

Oh Lord...i thought they would help me, but they betrayed me and pushed me back in. I don't want this. Why arn't you listening?

I have never left you.

You weren't here so I had no choice but to go with them.

I am here. I have always been here. Come to me my child.

Lord...I can't go to you. I am a mess and I am left cripple. My legs are broken; now I know I can never jump to reach your hand. I am not good enough.

Nothing you can do can break my love for you, you are still my child and I am still God.

Where are you? I can't see..

Ask for me.

God please..help me.

I am craddled in His arms in an instant and carried to a safe place. His love washes me clean and slowly I heal from my wounds and broken bones. The choices we think are good can lead somewhere so far off. He is always there for me. Always. I'm so blind to what is really happening to me most of the time. As a people...we are selfish and as christians sometimes we think our way is the right way. The only way to fix me is God.

Giving in to the Wants of the World

So, before you read this, let me just say I'm strangely proud of this very short essay. It started off as a rant, but became something else. It will be published in a book full of other peoples work this spring, i believe; still i cant understand how it got accepted, nevertheless less...i am proud.



* * *
I remember the luxury I had when my mother made my own lunches
I felt like she was encouraging me to focus on the more important things in life, than the small pestering things such as lunch making.
The delectable roast beef sandwiches would hug my stomach in complete and total comfort.
I would have nothing else but the same sandwich every day.
My taste buds were simple and happy, they never once complained, with the exception of onions.
But now, oh how I long for the simplicity of my once simple tongue.
Now it is found corrupt among the many different foods out in this evil world.
They have grown to love other things, other tastes, sweet and sour.
Sour indeed. Like a conspicuous lover that roams the busy late night streets, looking for someone new every night.
If only there was a cure, a certain medicine to help my promiscuous tongue.
It all started with the sugar sweetness of candy. Once my tongue fell upon the sugar powdered donuts, candy-coated cereals and chocolate covered peanuts, my mouth was forever changed.
Depression came over my figure from the bitter choices I made in the past.
Curse you, tempting sugar cravings!
I can’t go back to how things were, no, I have no dignity left.
But, alas, I will not give in completely. I still have some self control in this life, I will conquer this or I will die by the doing of my tongue.

Politics and Their Endless Conniving Words

Wiring circuits filling the walls

the occasional shock stings my arms with each twitch i give into

I've been under for what feels like weeks

my skin, i cant feel

my eyes can only roam under the thin layer of skin that cover them

my ears never stop their ringing

i want to answer it by closing them with my hands

but my arms stay stuck to the table

my skin tears at every try to move them

im held down by straps of plastic, tight

so tight around my waist and chest

how do they think they can keep me alive?

If only my will power could determine whether i could die or not

but wishful thinking will get me no where

It's useless

I'm useless

am i some sort of test?

a victim of an experiment?

my brain is the only thing that is working on its own

i can think all i want, but I'm not going anywhere

and here is where i'll stay

I wish...

I wish to be deaf.
I wouldn't have to worry about what others say, i wouldn't understand what listening means, nor would i care. Because even though things in this life are worth listening to, such as the gentle strum of a guitar or the wind brushing through a tree, it can be ruined, destroyed by the voices of men. Careless remarks, meaningless words that catches the ear on fire. I want to run around and scream when I'm being burned, but i just take it in and ignore the smell of burnt flesh. It doesn't hurt that much from an enemy, compared to a friend. Then some, i call my friends; but the never answered question of that, lingers and rots.
I wish to be blind.
So i couldn't see their judgmental faces. Those eyes that scan through your being and curse you for being you. I would give up my view of the ocean, skies and full bloomed flowers; not to share a glance with them.
I tried to be like them. Fake. Live by what they think is right.
But in realization i can't. I wish not to be hypercritical, and yet now i am.
Perhaps all this wanting of mine makes me just like them.
Is this not what they hurt for? For acceptance among their own kind? To push others down as their footstools so they could take a higher stand.
More than anything...
I wish to be their opposite.

Smile

Smile.

It shows that you care.

Sometimes, its okay to be sad.