I’m writing this post because I want to remember today.

I wrote a poem today, a hard, ugly poem that really hurt to come out of me. I would’ve shared it here if it weren’t so terrible. It’s angry. Really angry. So angry that I used the “f” word. A lot. A day ago I didn’t believe in the “f” word and never would’ve used it, but today, I couldn’t seem to find any other words. I blamed, and blamed, and blamed. I cursed almost every way I know how. I came out astonishingly honestly with my hate and I didn’t know I was capable of so much of it.

Even as I type this I’m so frustrated I want to cry, though my brother can’t even tell and he was just right next to me. I still don’t know how to let it all go…

Future Michael, look back on this and remember how much you fought and hurt. Remember that your success was stained with tears that still won’t come and pain that just doesn’t want to quit. Remember the man that showed up at the bottom when you look down from whatever height you one day find yourself. Remember who lied in case they try to come back. Remember everything you feel because someone else will feel the same thing and come looking for compassion and if you forget these moments, they’ll have to look somewhere else.

Michael today, be the man of your future. All you can control is what you do in response. Do it wisely.


I was so angry last night. I was so angry that I just wanted to snap. I kept catching myself wanting to yell and I kept seeing myself throwing chairs through the sliding glass doors.

The rage was attacking me in flashes and before I could fight each one off more began blitzing. I felt like my insides would burst if I kept trying to hold it in, but I was so scared to let go. It wasn’t safe.

My organs seemed to be overheating and I swore something inside me was about to burst, but I wouldn’t let go, I couldn’t let go.

It’s never been safe to let go.

I started remembering all the times I’d let myself become angry, all the times people have told me that I scared them, all the times my mom told me it was inappropriate, I remember breaking Chris’ nose in elementary school for some reason I don’t even remember. I remember punching walls, bruising my knuckles, having to reseal and caulk the holes I made in my old bedroom.
You’re not safe.
You’re not safe.
You’re not safe.
You’re not safe.

My own voice in my head overwhelmed me.

You’re just not safe.

The last few times I heard it in the voices of my exes and it made me realize that they’re terrified of me. I’ve never raised at hand at any of them or made any threats, but I think they’ve each seen it in me and it’s driven them away.

At this point, I wanted to die. I couldn’t take it anymore, I felt like my internal organs were under so much stress they may explode, I hoped they would. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started yelling inside my head. I don’t know if I was yelling at God or myself, but someone had to know how angry I was. I screamed every negative thought that came to mind. Every thought, every feeling, I ran through everything I hate about my current situation and everything I hate about myself. I was honest about how angry I am with certain people and transparent about the fact that they’ve been treating me pretty badly. I said whatever came to mind without editing myself or forcing myself think rationally. (It seems that trying to tell the truth and being striving to be honest are two different things.)

Somehow peace came, quietly and reassuringly. I realized something, I’ve never really let myself be okay with how I feel when the feelings are ugly. I guess that’s why I’ve always been so intentional about letting people be exactly who they are when they’re with me. That’s why I try so hard to make myself a safe space for other people. I’ve not given myself any safe spaces, which has made me very unsafe.

I have to learn how to accept these parts of me or I’ll never get better. I deserve someone who accepts those parts of me, too. But, first things first, right?

#69 Revenge.

This study I’m doing, Breaking Free, is continuing to show me a lot about myself. In fact, it made me very angry this last week. I spent a couple hours writing a blog about what I’d learned and this silly app deleted it. *sigh* I would’ve left it alone, but sitting through the actual class brought it all back up and had me cooking again, so I started writing again, this time, I got a poem out of it. It’ll take a few months for it to work itself completely out, but I thought I’d at least share the first half of what I’ve written so far. Right now, it’s name is Revenge. It’s pretty damn personal, so read at your own risk. Continue reading

#57 Dirty Jobs

I can understand why people want to work long hours at impersonal jobs where they make lots of money. At jobs where you solve problems by tweaking inputs and equations, and where interactions with other people are somewhat safe and controlled.

People are messy. I’m messy. I’m a mess of hurt, and doubt, and struggle, and worry, and insecurity. My needs are never constant, and over the course of just minutes, my mood can shift dramatically. I can be so ugly, so ugly that I can look at my mess and not want to touch it. Dealing with other people doesn’t just mean that I deal with their messes, it means that they have to deal with mine. I forgot how scary that can be. I forgot how much I’m afraid of that.
I think we all are.

I’m terrified, and yet I’m desperate for it. Desperate for someone to dive deep into this mess and help me find my way out from it, or at least to make this place okay, and not just cover it up and pretending it is like I’ve been trying to do my whole life. Yet, as soon as someone comes and commits themselves to doing so, I fight to keep them from doing it.

I guess that’s where things really get messy, isn’t it?

#42 Sometimes, it’s what we all want, right?

Sometimes I don’t feel like writing.
I don’t feel like digging into mind to find out why I’m feeling how I do
I just want to feel it
I don’t want to analyze, question, pursue or do anything

I just want to be.

Birds don’t ask why they wanna fly
Pigs don’t know why the roll in the mud
Sharks and snakes bite whatever seems right
I just want to be like them
No need to understand or pretense
And if it’s really that major,
I’ll question why I care later.

#34 Sunshine Through Tears

She told me,
“Sometimes I look into your eyes and see the tears you haven’t cried.
It’s like everything you see is filtered through them.
Even when you smile,
It’s like light shining through drops of water.”

Sounds like my favorite days.
When sunrays fill the skies with hope
Even though they know it rained yesterday

I’ve always thought that sorrow makes joy sweeter.

She agreed,
“Mourning may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

When will you climb out of bed with night and embrace the day?”

#23 “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst”

There’s lots of vulgar language over this 12 minutes of music, but between Kendrick’s bitter, desperate, vengeful, and dismal, yet undeniably compelling stories of young people grappling with life and death, searching for significance and coping with pain; and his own admission that we are all depraved [dying of thirst], we have one of the most potent and meaningful pieces of hip hop music released in quite some time. Throw in an enigmatic and resolute old lady in the last couple minutes of the track leading some would-be murderers through a prayer of salvation and things get a lot more interesting. This track needs not only to be experienced, but firmly understood and applied to our own lives. Continue reading

#6 These Hands Weren’t Made For This

So, apparently I have really long arms
So skinny
people think I must hit with all the intensity of wet spaghetti,
Because in fights I’d never strike back
In 2nd grade, Derrick Coleman told me that I didn’t deserve my height after smashing my plastic Batman lunchbox into my left eye
“That’s what you get big head”
“You the tallest nigga in class,
but ain’t no one scared of your skinny—”
Icepack from the nurse helped my head,
But today,
15 years later, those words still hurt.
So I started chasing strength
Refusing to be weak
And not just for me:
for every nerd and outcast,
every fat girl with an attractive sister,
every hard-hearted little boy beaten up standing for what he believed in;
The world is not worthy of your stories.
But they still leave us lonely, don’t they?
I’ve lost feeling
Searching for something to fill me
To build me into buildings that never fall,
Call me anything except what I am.
Conceal me until I can deal with these bruises
I’m gonna relearn how to use these hands:
They weren’t made for fists.
I’m so sick of being told I’m broken
And I know I’m not the only one.
I’m done waiting for someone to save me
Last girl who stepped into this wreck trying to stop it
Got caught instead
She offered her body to please me
Too easy;
lighting fires we couldn’t control
[Can’t hold coals to your chest without burning your clothes]
We were thieves,
attempting to steal meaning from one another
But these hands weren’t made for that.
Don’t we all share these stories though?
We once took pride in our lives.
Dreamed of all the things we would be,
but somewhere in between then and now,
we settled for what we got:
I’m not Dr. King like I thought I’d be.
Or a samurai….
Jet pilot, jedi, or a dinosaur.
But I am still something.
I am a miracle.
My mom had six miscarriages before I was born
Almost quit trying to have kids…
But she didn’t.
And she did!
She believed in miracles.
I am God-sent.
Ninety percent chance of down syndrome;
Born without a hint
I believe in those miracles.
You are a miracle.
Light dances in your eyes like ice skaters
Your glow is Aurora Borealis
Can’t you see how important your now is?
We are miracles
of vision and near-death experience.
Of chance meetings and dead writers whose words still inspire
We may sometimes take the hard-headed road
But where we find ourselves does not define us.
We were designed for more,
Step forward.
We have room to grow vast as oceans and galaxies
So set these broken ships to sea.
We’re NOT hopeless.
I know this.
And I know this:
No matter how many times I grope you
These hands will never hold your heart,
It’s hopeless.
It takes more strength to give than to take:
And hands can’t be measured by inches:
only what they hold in them.
The hearts of queens are larger than double D’s.
That can be hard to see.
I know.
But that’s what large hands are for
They’re for seeking God
And I’ve been trying;
But I’ve fallen too far to reach Him:
Still, He sees me.
Meets me here right where I’m at.
Like a swan wading through swamps making pristine springs
I never needed to reach Him.
He’s been reaching for me.
You need to know the same thing.
We were designed for more,
Step forward with me
Everything we’ve waited for is not so far away
I promise,
We can find
why you and I were designed.

#5. Perfection is a Lie

From the time I started high school, I have been somehow romantically involved with 18 different girls. I only officially dated 8 of them. I only had real feelings for 3 of those 8. I dated the other 5 because I had a low view of my worth and would date anyone who gave me attention. All 3 of the ones that I actually had strong feelings for left me for other guys.

That hurt me a LOT.

Continue reading