Romans 7:15.

"I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." Romans 7:15

I am so full of myself
I hardly have time
For You
Perhaps in passing
A late night thought
A string of words
Formed together
Because I know
What I should do

You speak of mountains
And valleys
The coming and goings
Of a time and place
For everything

I may be in a valley
Rightfully
But I am also
Digging a ditch

I give my imagination
Miles
When it should barely be afforded
Inches
I have taken off my protective wears
And stand exposed
As if purposefully
Giving in

Where is the fight?
Where is the memory
Of having come from nothing
To something
Triumphantly
Only because
You gave me the strength
And power
And will
And mercy
To do so?

Why am I choosing
To go into battle
Naked
Exposed
And exhausted-
When you give me
All I need
To win
Before even
Beginning?

7th Inning Stretch.

On the field the lights are blinding
They are florescent and unbecoming
Without the just the right angle
The grass is green, wet, and freshly cut
Appearing to be painted beneith my feet
Outfield is wide and open
The air is mine to breath

Batter up
I am ready
Catching pop-flies
Is what I do
It is why my face
Appears in magazines
And on TV
"She plays well, it's what she does"
They say

Pop
Pop
Pop

Three outs and the crowd goes wild

The game continues
And I am MVP

Till the last inning-
Bases loaded and this
Is the one that counts
My head is in the game
I anticipate the roars
Of wild fans
When I bring it home

Only...
I don't

I fumble
I fall
I fail

And I don't know
What to make of it
What to make of myself
Because who am I
If I am not playing well
If it is not what I do

Resignation.

Conviction is quiet
Easily ignored
And managed 
Under breaths

Resignation is without sound
At all
There is no need for management
When you have signed
The contract
You have accepted
What is alive in you
Breathing
Moving
Becoming who you are

Danger is around this bend
Beginning with beginnings
And ending
With
Never having moved

A Black Market Year.

Underneath the grey matter
Disguised as pink to hide
Highways racing with blood
It is a black market year
Thoughts are jumping borders
Crossing lines
Like immigrant women
Searching for new lives
It is dingy and dark here
It is unknown and well hidden
From everyone but God

There is stock being traded
Openly but against my will
Obsessive and Intrusive
Have their place 
Among the top bidders
At Auction
Followed closely by
Guilt and Immorality

It's a long way down
To this secret underground
Coming up would mean
Growth and exposure

And

Light hitting darkness
Does not promise anything
Other than the truth
To be open is not always
To be healed
And this side of heaven
Healing may only come in
Blinks and flashes

The Soldiers Wife.

We ride on camouflage coat tails
White knuckled and air-born
We attach our children
To our wrists
Linking them together
Like one of those Christmas chains
Made of construction paper
Reassuring them that
The glue will hold
And they will not be lost
In the rush
We cling to phones and keyboards
Like crash carts
We fill out customs forms
For flat rate boxes
Full of dollar store candy
And hand drawn pictures
Of stick figures holding hands
Under rainbows

But mostly we adjust
To never being adjusted
We resign
To wait
To move through motions
To raise children
Cook dinners
Watch movies
And fall asleep
Alone

Because love-
Even when it is halfway around the globe
Functioning in an environment
We will never fully understand
-Is worth waiting for