xxviii.

xxvii.

political schmolitical.

xxvi.

i have never met my father.

that is quite a powerful sentence. 

in my life, this is a reality. something that i have grown more and more accustomed to over the years. and through a barrage of questioning by friends early on in life . . . questions that i didnt know the answers to . . . questions like, "Does it bother you to not know your dad?", "Do you get jealous when you see girls with their dads?", "What do you do on Father's day?", "Do you miss your dad?", "Do you love your dad?", "Would you ever want to meet your dad?"- i learned how to avoid the issue all together. 

i grew up observing. observing other girls getting dropped off and picked up by their fathers from day care; observing friends pick out fathers day cards for the World's Best Dad; observing fathers proudly holding up their daughters after an elementary school choir performance; observing my sister playing around with her dad. 

i would observe these things and never discuss them. i learned from an early age that the heart can hold copious amounts of pain, and interestingly enough, be able to hide it. 

as i grew towards adolescence i dabbled in the give and takes that are the immature friendships of junior high-  "i'll give you a little of my story- you'll take a little of my trust . . ."  i remember a few rare occasions of sharing my secret with close friends- and then being confronted with that secret during an argument . . . being called a bastard is a remarkably influential way to cause a person to shut up. i felt a lot of shame during this time in my life because of these situations. . .  i didnt talk about my father much with friends after that.

throughout high school i was exceptionally numb to the idea that i was fatherless. the majority of my friends were from two parent households; and even of friends from divorced families- i was the only one who did not have a relationship with my father. but, i would never discuss it. i became a conversational wizard, of sorts- learning how to dodge questions about my 'parents' or to change the topic if family came up- i never wanted to feel like the odd one out. 

my father wrote me for the first time my freshman year of high school. he said he had had heart surgery and had a specific thought before going in- that he might pass on and would have never had the opportunity to meet me. 

a week before he wrote me i had a dream that i almost drowned on a boat. as i was sitting in the ambulance after being rescued my father came up to me with a huge bouquet of flowers. as he hugged me he told me that he thought that i could have died and he would never have had the opportunity to meet me. 

i believe God was preparing me for that encounter. 

my father and i wrote back and forth for the next couple years off and on. we still have yet to meet.

throughout my college life i experienced tremendous amounts of healing within myself in terms of my relationship with my father. i realized that its ok to be the odd one out- that it is our oddities that create beauty within this world. i also realized that i should never be afraid to share my story- for it is because of this story that i am who i am- flaws and all. that oddly enough, i am this woman now because i have not had my father in my life. 

and that thing about pain . . . the amount of pain your heart can hold- i've learned, through trial and error, to view pain not as a curse- but, rather as a blessing. because, first, and on the most basic level if we dont know pain, we are unable to experience joy; secondly, pain is what bonds us to one another- the valleys of pain in our lives point out where we should bridge the deepest bonds in our friendships- it is where we are able to understand and feel empathy for another person.  and as cliche as it may sound, i am convinced that the more pain your heart has held- the more love it is able to hold . . . and, in the end, how can that be anything but a blessing?

so, as strange as it may sound, i am not at all upset that my life has colored itself in these shades thus far. and, when my life is over- i hope people  are able to say that this was a beautiful picture- the dyes of lack, the strokes of felicity, the brushes pain- it all. 

xxv.

barbies

. . . 

while walking past the Barbie isle on a recent trip to target, my friend and i began to discuss our childhood Barbie escapades. we exchanged awesome stories about them. we described what our childhood Barbies were like, what their names were, how we played with them. after hearing my stories, my friend told me i must have been an odd child. she was right. . .

Butterscotch was my favorite (she actually wasn't a Barbie at all, but rather a cheap Mattel competitor knock off)

the name came instinctively to me, just as a pimp might name one of his ladies. "Butterscotch", I said matter-of-factly as I held her in one hand while stroking her hair with a small pink brush with the opposite. my sister asked why. i responded as any big sister would, "Hello. Look at her hair. It's like candy." 

her hair was exaggeratedly long- down to her ankles- and smooth like horse hair (which it probably was). it was the most beautiful hair i had ever seen.

she was shorter than the other Barbies- shorter than Skipper, even - I always introduced her to the rest of the Barbie clan as a Dwarf. Butterscotch the Dwarf.

my second favorite was Rebecca. she was an exceptionally beautiful Barbie. big blue eyes, long straight blonde hair, feet arched to the point that no woman could ever actually stand on them, and impossible waist to hip ratio- what every little girl dreams of being.

i always played her as the most caring and loving member of my Barbie society. all the other Barbies were jealous of her- yet no one could speak a negative thing about her because she was so kind. also, she was the only one with a pink convertible.

i had her for about a year until i fatefully decided one day that Rebecca would be diagnosed with cancer. i cut all the hair off her head (Brit-Brit style). she was never the same. yes, she was still always very kind- but much more removed from the close knit Barbie social circle than ever before. i gave her big dark sunglasses and an array of scarves for her head. 

during Rebecca's Chemo her good friend Aladdin was always by her side. he showed her true love by being the one constant in her life during such a difficult time for Rebecca. i pressed their firm plastic hands together.

Aladdin had a permanent plastic Turban on his head. when he first moved to the small community, he did not receive a very warm welcome.

he was the only Muslim in a sea of Caucasian dolls- it must have been tough for him. at first the racism was quite  intense- but, after a while the Barbies gathered together for a town-hall-style meeting to discuss the racial tension within the community. 

by the end of it, Aladdin was in the middle of a Barbie group hug and they celebrated their newly found understanding with a Pow-Wow . . . i dont know why. 

shortly after, Aladdin and Rebecca were married. 

Butterscotch was there.

i was a strange child- but, i think i am more worldly because of it. i mean, who else touched on issues of social acceptance, disability, death, racial integration/dispute resolution while playing Barbies?

i have many more stories, including Tiffany the home-wrecker who lost her leg in a car accident. maybe i'll share that one next time . . .

xxiv.

duluth

...

this weekend i visited my hometown of duluth. if you know me but at all, you understand that, for me, duluth is a loaded issue. its all around bittersweet. the memories i have are an interesting conglomeration of many of my firsts: rebellion, teen angst, lusts, and spiritual awakening, to name a few. therefore, whenever i venture north (which is a rare occasion) it is inevitable that i will forgo some type of deeply cathartic experience triggering some awakening within myself. 

in that respect, this trip was no different than any other one i have taken before. yet, i am older- and, thankfully, i find myself more evolved as a person- more removed from my previous experiences of duluth- i am able to see with a more clear vision ... with wiser eyes. 

i found myself visiting very specific places in duluth- and for whatever reason- they were deeply personal sites to me- places that i had not experienced in years. i observed these spots with a new perspective. i saw the wear and tear that had taken place over the years of my absence . . . and i realized that these spots (which in my mind seemed so grand- so fantastically powerful that held such life defining moments) were no longer as magnificent as my memory had built them up to be. rather, they were just . . .  places.

i realized that although duluth was where i grew up-where i went to elementary school and high school- where i had my first kiss- where i first stole- where i first drank- where i first prayed- the settings of countless successes and failures- of lies and truths- of friends and of people that turned out to be something all together different- of gut wrenching laughter and of deeply felt tears- duluth no longer defined me. 

i carry those experiences within myself- they decorate the walls of my soul. therefore,  i am greatly connected with the heart of duluth. but,  after this trip i felt more free from duluth than i ever have before. it is a place in time for me. it is a part of someone elses story now- i am only a visitor. 

i could see how for some people this could be quite the devastating realization- but, not for me. it was very freeing. i came to terms with the idea that i am only moving forward in life- i am only progressing towards something greater- towards the next step.

i will always love duluth for being one of those steps in my journey- one of the messiest, one of the most heartbreaking, one of the most unforgiving, one of the most lonely, and one of the most beautiful steps i have ever taken. 

salutations, duluth. 

xxiii.

Love

...

Love has begun

it began in me at breath

when breath was given to me

when God created me

the consecrated materials within me rejoice

joy is my song

this Love is my voice

and in this Love

there is no fear in what might be lost

because within this Love

there is only great joy in the counting as loss

and because of this Love

striving is no longer my master

and pain is no longer my king

and through this Love

wisdom is now my strength

teaching me for but one thing

Love

to receive Love

to give

to receive

to give Love

God is my Lover

God is my Healer

God is my Provider

God is my Redeemer

and I am His

intimacy unites us

through the Love of the Holy Spirit

and i sit with God

and i Love with God

and i learn from God

and i am one with God

He is my Master

He is my King

He is my Friend

He is my Lover

because He Loves me so

and i am in Love

i am

within

Love

-me

xxii.

spare parts- peggy sue and the pictures ( love this song right now)

...

I lent you a hand but you never gave it back
I lent you a hand but you never gave it back
You said you had grown very fond of my fingers, 
the way that the touch of the tips of them lingers
and you couldn't possibly part with them now
so you carry them around, in your handbag 

I lent you a light when everything around you was black
I lent you a light when everything around you was black
And you lit you cigarette 
And then you left

And you needed a place to put your hands
I said "You could lay 'em on my hips"
And you needed a place to put your kisses
I said "You could use my lips"

I lent you a shoulder, a shoulder to lean upon
I said you could keep it until you were feeling strong

You'd taken advantage of my kind loan
You carry it 'round town, pass it off as your own
And everybody thinks that you're so very kind
But nobody knows that that shoulder is mine

And you needed a place to put your hat
I said you could lay it right here
You were looking for something to do 
With all those things that trouble you
I said, I would lend you an ear

Worst of all, I gave you my heart
'Cause yours wasn't working too good
I am not spare pa-arts for you to use and you to loose, no

xxi.

pieces

....

we pull ourselves apart

just to observe the mend

we break each-others hearts

anxious with the needle

ready with the thread

and this slab of heart i hold

is just a portion

its not the whole

i want it all back now

back what we gave

back what they stole

still i choose to stand in line

foregoing all advice

i'll waiting patiently until

you've had more than your fill

of the sugar

and of the spice

but you've scattered yourself

all over this town

and im your naive devotee

picking your scraps up

off the ground

and you've let yourself go

with me a little less

with them

a little more

and you choose

you chose

these words

not those

your poetry

verses

our pros

and the cons of this

are where we exist

scraping whats left of ourselves

off one anothers

kiss

-me

xx.

this morning has been long. 

some might even call this the afternoon. 

i have so far spent my day cuddled on my couch with what was, at one point, hot black coffee. my grandmothers quilt is my shelter this morning as i switch off between reading through the scriptures and writing. the album parachutes by coldplay has been on repeat.

i am about to dive into hafiz. 

its been a good morning. 

xix.

whitman

....

whoever you are holding me now in hand
without one thing all will be useless
i give you fair warning before you attempt me further
i am not what you supposed, but far different

who is he that would become my follower?
who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?

the way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive
you would have to give up all else, i alone would expect to be 
your sole and exclusive standard
your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting
the whole past theory of your life and all conformity to the lives 
around you would have to be abandoned

therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further
let go your hand from my shoulder
put me down and depart on your way

. . .

but these leaves conning you con at peril
for these leaves and me you will not understand
they will elude you at first and still more afterward- i will certainly elude you
even while you should think you had unquestionably caught me, behold-
already you see i have escaped from you

. . .