"Getting older's not been on my plans"

      I am aware that this blog post will be hurtful and perhaps a little over my head, but the topic came up tonight when speaking with a friend and I have been ruminating on it...so I thought I would write my thoughts. I want to preface this with: I have never been raped, but know someone very very dear to me that has and so I am not the be all end all of this subject, but I realize how real and scary it is. I also have no data whatsoever...       That being said, I want to address this new "nail polish" that was created by 4 college students from North Caroline State University. Just recently these 4 gentlepeople invented a nail polish that detects several known date rape drugs including Rohypnol, xanax, and GHB. Essentially, this polish when worn by a person can detect the presence of these drugs by dipping the finger in the drink. It turns the polish black indicating the presence of said drug.         When I first heard about this drug, I was elated. I thought, "W

     Leviticus 19:28: " Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I  am  the LORD."       That sounds pretty straight forward to me. So why have I spent at least 800$ give or take 50 bucks on tattoos? I mean I obviously care what scripture says, but I have blatantly gone against the "inspired word of God." What a hot topic! Let me preface with this: I LOVE tattoos! I always have; I always will. I can't say that I won't get anymore. My question is this: why is it still so offensive to Christians today?       I was always writing on my skin. From an early age, I could be found with ink all over me in different pictures and words and sayings. I knew that I would one day make the choice to have a permanent mark on my body that I was not born with. I craved it! Even though I knew what the society of which I was raised thought about them...I didn't care. I still don't.        Tattoos have been used for hun

"What's your drug of choice?" she asked. "Hope," he said. The most addicting of them all.

     I am a liar, a cheat, a thief, and a blasphemer. I am simply, a sinner. I have nothing, but what the King of Glory has bestowed upon me, and I deserve no more than hell, and its fire. I am utterly lost...but I have been given grace.      I am loved, and I sin. I am accepted, and I sin. I am alive, and I sin...but I have been given grace.      So what then is grace? Grace is simple, yet undeserved. A gift of pure mercy, given to us, sinners who live in a world where Satan rules.      Who deserves this undeserved gift? All have sinned, and all need grace. Fortunately for us as sinners, Christ has taken mercy on us, to grant us something we do not deserve.      Grace points out, that we are all sinners, yet never denied God's love and mercy.      In a society of unexplainable desire, where is our holiness? As sinners we are granted holiness through Christ. Only with grace are we allowed to enter into the holy of holies. Our holiness is found in the only One worthy enough to

              I remember when my mom asked me if I wanted to bury my brother or cremate him. She gave me the option, and without going into the detail of why I picked the cremation--I did. We hadn't decided where we were going to bury Andrew knowing that we have no real ties to Tulsa. My family had always been somewhat nomadic. So, when my mom came to me one late night and suggested burying him at Conception cemetery I knew it was meant to be. But it was 13 days later before we interned him.       Tomorrow is the feast day of St. Augustine, one of my brother's favorite theologians, and the day we buried him. Every year on this day, my brother would call and say, "Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you..." It was an excerpt from St. Augustine's "Confessions." And how apropos that we got to bury him on this day of all days.       I remember getting ready on this early Saturday morning. We were invited to hav

       I was completely sold on the idea to get a dog. I wanted one, and I was just extremely excited to get a miniature Schnauzer. There were two left...the little guy and his bigger brother. I got first choice. Meet Dutch. The love of my life. I didn't realize, as do most people, how much this little creature would greatly impact my life. I know that everyone says they have the best dog, and if their dog means as much to them as Dutch does to me...then they can't be lying.        I used to have this bear. It was about 3 feet tall, white at one point, and slept with me every night for 23 years. I gave the bear up for this little guy, and he has since become my comfort. When Andrew passed, I was a complete mess. I wept and cursed and acted confused, but not once did this guy leave my side (well...he did piss on my friend Michael 3 times in that one day) but other than that Dutch had to have one paw touching me at all times.          This dog has been a physical saving

      I read this quote on Facebook today: "You are where God wants you to be at this very moment. Every experience is part of his divine plan."       Yeah...I really don't know how I feel about this. From first glance, I could probably concede to the quote. I could paraphrase it into layman's terms and say that "everything happens for a reason." But that could be a cop out or almost deus ex machina. I can't say that I don't believe that, but sometimes I wonder why. Do I believe this because I was taught to or because it is truth?         When I read again the quote from above, I thought, "Am I really where God wants me to be at this very moment in time? Am I doing according to his divine plan everything that I am supposed to?" I don't know. I can't answer that. So this quote I can't stand behind. Now, had it read: "You are where you are at this very moment, and God knew it before you even existed." That I can crou

My sestina... I was born with perfect skin. And it wasn't until I got my first cut That I knew I could bleed. The ground, where I fell, was bitterly cold. I was young: I became mortal. My innocence--stolen. It was then I learned this world would bite. Why would he bite? I was compliant, but he tore at my skin. Harder and sloppier with each thrust my womb was stolen. And even without a knife he found ways to cut Me and leave me cold. I just wanted to die--to bleed and bleed... ...and bleed. The razor I dragged across arms did bite. Small and stainless, the steel was always curious and cold. Line after line my diary became my skin. To cope and to survive, I had to cut Because my sanity, my dignity, and my life had been stolen. Kisses I took from him were coyly stolen. I bit--hard and unexpectedly he began to bleed, But I lapped his wound sweetly as a mother cares for a cut. And because sex with him was always a battle, he used his

       Her name was Lilly, and I found her to be a sweet human being. I remember the first time I showed up at her house, she couldn't talk, but she could walk with my help and express herself through grunts and gestures. Taking care of Lilly was easy and fun. Her husband would spend the 4 hours I was with her and go run errands, make model airplanes, write, or just get away for no reason. To take care of Lilly, it was a 24 hour job, and it was exhausting.          I didn't do much while I sat with Lilly. It was much more for the comfort of not being alone. We would eat, well, I would pour her liquid food in the tube that ran through her stomach wall into her inner stomach. She hadn't eaten by mouth in a few months. I would walk her to the bathroom at least 7 or 8 times an hour, even if she didn't have to go, she still wanted to go. She was a religious 7th Heaven and Little House on the Prairie watcher, so it was a good way to spend our time. She couldn't control h

       It is always hard when you meet someone new and you are trying to explain to them the good things about yourself, but you know eventually the bad will follow. My hardest thing to explain is the way I get when I am upset. I always thought I had it all figured out. I always thought I was a pretty level headed person, until it came time to get into an argument.        For years, I watched my parents fight and have arguments. My father is the "leave me alone until I am ready to talk about it" type, and my mother is the "let's talk about it now and resolve it" type. I would like to think I am somewhere in the middle, but at the end of the day, I am more like my father. And I always wondered which one was better...well, neither really. Fighting isn't a great thing to do, but it inevitably happens.         I was having a conversation with someone this evening, and as the topic of arguing and fighting came up, I realized that I was trying my hardest to come

       There is a song by B.O.B. entitled, "Airplanes." And I love it! Absolutely love it! The hook is such:  Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars. I could really use a wish right now. Wish right now.        I often listen to this song on repeat just screaming the hook. And even now I catch myself looking into the sky when I see an airplane and hoping it was a shooting star. Because how often in life do we need a wish? I read a quote once that stuck with me, "Dear eyelashes, wishbones, dandelions, pennies, shooting stars, and birthday candles...do your job."        We wish. We as humans wish. We wish to wish; we love to wish. And sad that we spend our grandest moments wishing. Because I am sure I have heard my parents say before, " Shit in one hand, wish in the other and see which one fills up first." And how often do these come true? We are superstitious beings because we want to believe in luck and hope and good,

      I could and probably did say that I had moved on from the ex when I told him I couldn't wait for him any longer. It was a moment that I had grown to expect would happen for a few months, but I knew that I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready because I was in love with this man. But I knew that it would happen when on more than one occasion I would cry myself to sleep. I was in more pain than I was love.         But I guess I hadn't. Until now. I am ready to finally move on. Now, whether that is because of someone one else ready to take that place or I am just in a better place all together, I don't know. All I know is that I am no longer bound by that pain or love. I still love the ex. I will always love the ex. I love him enough to want what is best for him and that he gets all he wants out of life. But I am not in love with him. In fact, I am not in love with him anymore that if he landed on my door step I would refuse him. Not because I am a harsh person, but beca

       I have this tiny remnant of a scar on the back of my left hand from a friend who put out a cigarette on me. It hurt. Bad. I will never forget that moment or that girl. And as I was looking at this scar, I noticed several others on my body. Some I remember, some I don't. But I was thinking less about the reason I got this cigarette scar, and more about the person I was at the time.         I wasn't necessarily a bad girl. In fact, people would probably call me a pretty good one. But, I had my moments. And looking down at this scar brought back all those "moments" into one continuous stream of not-so-good things. I have moved on from them, but I still have a reminder.         I remember I was playing softball, the summer of my 9th grade year, and as I hit the ball toward second base my best friend at the time was running from first to second. She had to slide into second to get on base. The second baseman jammed her cleat into her shin and pushed up all the mus

            Thomas Moran, a fantastic painter and my favorite, has a running theme in his art: a single focal point of light. In most of his paintings, there is a scene of crashing waves, either on themselves or a rocky crag of sorts. The waves are always dark and foreboding, and present a sense of inevitable or impending death.        But, where the horizon meets the ocean there is always a focal point of light. I heard it once said that a good painter always puts their darkest colour next to the brightest to accentuate both. The light lends credence to the dark and vice versa. So Moran does in his art. He blends perfectly the harsh blacks, grays, and blues with the bright whites, yellows, and oranges. And he creates beauty.        So it is in life. This week, today, two people left this earth. It seems that when we slowly gain back our ground from the few moments before that shifted our paradigm, we experience the shattering again. A week or so ago, I was with my best friend

      Baby steps. A fantastic fictional book written by none other than Dr. Leo Marvin. Dr. Marvin is a successful psychotherapist who delightfully put into a single volume all that I try to avoid in life...taking baby steps. I don't have time for baby steps. I am getting old; my eggs are getting old; my dog is getting old; my parent's are getting old. I think you get the picture.         Okay, this post has nothing to do with Dr. Leo Marvin, or baby steps (or maybe it does) I just love that movie, and I want to get a goldfish named Gill that I can wear around my neck. But that is beside the point. The point is that I am getting older, and even though I acknowledge this fact, this week I have also acknowledged that I am still a bratty teenager at times. I have this auto-pilot button that when engaged I act like a freaking child.         I can't say I was surprised that I encountered this side of myself, it isn't something that came sneaking up behind me and raped my p

Sometimes rainbows can be the most promising thing, and other times they can be the most damaging obstacles we face. Yes, this is cryptic. Yes, it will remain so. Yes, this post is short, and I'm okay with that.

      I might have just told my soul mate that I can't be with him. How fucked up is that? I might have just pushed away the one person that destiny created to be my equal. And even though I have the opportunity to take it back and be with him...I won't. Fuck me!       Zain...I have never had so much fun or excitement or potential with a man, in my life, and it is all thanks to you. You are an amazing man. From the way you look to how you speak. I want you. But I can't have you. And I know that...and I am willing to slowly shove you away, for my own standards and boundaries. God, I hope that you have the right person for me. I hope that you give me a sign or show me what you have for me, and even though it isn't Zain, I trust you. This is me trusting you. By making this decision, and not engaging with this man, I am giving all control over to you...bring the one you want me to have. I am ready...

        At midnight, I was older (in theory) than Andy was. What do I mean by this? Andrew graduated college when he was 29. It was May 2010. He died in August. I graduated in May 2014. I was 28, but turned 29 in July. As of this night, I was and am older than him. I surpassed the moment of his death. I am still here. And I know that my mother can now breathe easier knowing that we have crossed that milestone.          It isn't easy forging a path that has been untrod. I always looked to the path that he had created for me. He surpassed me in many things, and now, as of midnight, I am forging my own. You may think that it is just a date and an age, but it is more than that. I am now...completely on my own. Yeah, yeah...he is still with me, I get it, but in an abstract way, I am here to forge ahead without his footsteps to guide me. And I am okay.          I couldn't express the thankfulness that I have with my friends. I couldn't put into words the amazing relationships t

       I had every intention of writing out the worst day of my life, the day my brother died. But I can't. I am tired, and the thought completely exhausts me. It isn't that I am so against reliving that day, I do that everyday, but it is just that I can't at this moment. In 10 minutes, it will be the fourth year death day anniversary. It will be a day that will forever be engraved in the recesses of my mind. I will never be able to think of anything else on this day than the moment I screamed in the phone, "Just tell me! Is he dead!" Her response..."Yes."          It was a breathless, hopeless, lifeless, shattering moment. And I hate it. I still hate that moment. Granted, I am healing from that moment, but I don't think I will ever reconcile with it. I will never be able to understand what happened from one moment--as I was taking care of my client--till the next as I am screaming in the phone. I can't.          So, instead, I will share with

Albert : Are you loosing your fear? Chris Nielsen : Fear? Albert : That you disappeared? You didn't, you only died.        This is a line taken from one of my favorite Robin Williams movies: "What Dreams May Come." It is a story about a man who, after he lost his two children in a car accident, dies himself entering into "heaven." But he realizes it isn't everything he thought it would be because his wife is not there. She committed suicide and went to hell. And his desire? To forsake eternity in heaven to try and reach her soul in the depths of hell. I love this movie, and after I heard he died and the first thoughts of sadness, and the idea that money and fame don't make one happy went through my mind, I thought of this movie.         I was given a podcast by a friend where Marc Maron, a comedian, interviews Williams in 2010. This interview touches on everything from starting out as a stand-up comedian to his parent's different tactics in

       Sometimes, I wonder why I chose to study literature. I wonder: do I love literature because I dedicated a substantial amount of time studying it, or did I study literature because I love it? And even though I can't fully answer that question, I think perhaps it is both. I adore reading. I adore poetry: sonnets (Shakespearean or Patrarchan), haikus, epics, free verse, ballads, prose, pastoral, and many others. I love books: sci-fi, biographies, romance, young adult, classics, utopian, dystopian, fantasy, and many others. I love novellas, opinion articles, blogs, facebook statuses, plays, monologues, dialogues, and many others. In other words...I love the written word.        Obviously, I am not someone who just craves one medium of writing, I crave it all. But why? Because there is nothing more intimate than connecting with someone through the immortalizing of themselves. To sit on the back porch and connect with Sylvia Plath or Orson Scott Card or Alfred Tennyson people th

       I used to have this friend. It was a friendship that was uncomplicated and never required a lot of personal struggle. I never felt uncomfortable or as though I had to compromise myself. It was a friendship of true honesty and sincerity, and I miss it.         Oddly enough, I have these moments that I imagine my entire life ending. Just stopping. And as I ponder on where I am and who I am around and who would be affected, I think of this friend. Probably because they aren't around anymore. I think that perhaps they aren't around to help me cope with the things I encounter on a daily basis. Odd, you say? Eh, if you knew them, you wouldn't think so.         I honestly can't remember the first time I met this person. I was very young, and never imagined that we would grow as close as we did. It was perhaps a friendship forged in similar tastes and loves. We loved to banter about religion and philosophy and literature...okay, maybe not when we were younger, but we d

       When I was in the womb, I was diagnosed with terminal life, an illness that would render me completely alive and in control of my wellness and destruction. At the time of my birth, my parents did all they could to reverse the signs of damage that had already left me corrupt. In the years that followed, as I grew unrelentingly and at times uncontrollable, I caused the infection (illness) to spread rapidly to all parts of my being, especially my mind, body, and spirit. I was completely unaware at the time of my self-discovery how every decision I made was preventing my healing.        By the time I was in my teens, my disease, which I came to discover as sin, had taken hold of my heart and left me unabashedly helpless. I did all I could to combat this sin with doses of thoughtless prayers and obligated church sightings. Nothing seemed to work. I went the "natural route," leaving behind the "spiritual way," by means of self-actualizing my own desires. I tried t