Two Masters

Scene: A twelve year old girl is in the checkout line at a grocery store with her mother.

“Hey mom, who’s this?” The girl said, handing a fashion magazine to her mom with curiosity and a hint of admiration in her eyes.

“Oh lemme see dear. Oh, that’s a model. I’m not sure of her name, exactly.”

“Look Mama.” The young dreamer whispered breathlessly. “She’s so perfect.”

The smiling mother suddenly looked severe. She bent down and took the love of her life by the shoulders. Memories of her past floated up to the surface: The absent father of this true beauty, her constant infidelity, the hospital trips in high school due to anorexia, the comments on her weight from her own father. All of these memories came to to her mind and came through in her eyes and she said, “No sweetie. She’s not real.”

Confusion dawned on the girls face at first. And she suddenly broke into a grin. “Oh, so she’s like a movie character. She’s real, but not really like that in real life?”

A smile of relief and gratitude washed over the troubled woman as she hugged her daughter and said “Yes. Yes, baby. You’re so smart. I love your mind. I bet Einstein wishes he coulda had you as a wife.”

“Wife? Mama! Boys are gross. Plus Einstein was old and a science guy. I don’t do science.” She straightened up tall. “I’m going to be a writer.”

The mother who lost much in life prayed in gratitude of the second chance she received. Then she laughed and said “Of course you are! And you better address your first best seller to me dear!”

“Mama! What if I don’t make a best seller?”

“No what ifs!” And with that she attacked her daughter with tickle monster hands in the middle of the grocery store. Leaving her daughter gasping for breath and giggling, she said “We are dreamers my darling. Only the dreamers believe, therefore only the dreamers do. The ones who believe they can change the world will.”

And scene.

Reflecting back on this regular day at a grocery store, the now grown up young girl starts to cry. Her mother passed away last Friday and Memory Lane seemed to continue to stretch down to a cemetery she had yet to come to. The funeral was this afternoon, and Annie was not only reflecting on her mother, but on her life as a whole. She had not become a writer. She was single, with two cats, and worked a nine to five job as a secretary. She had once believed in so much. The quote about being the dreamers came back with a sting.

Later that afternoon, she quit her job. She took out every cent of her savings and planned on looking into a mission trip to a Spanish speaking county. For if we do not dream, and help those who can not help themselves, are we not only serving money?

The Boardwalk

The boardwalk stands before me. Staring straight ahead lost in thought, I find pink and yellow rays and bands wrapped against fluffy white clouds as the sun begins it’s descent. The hope of it stuns me in my stupor of thought and reflection. The sun’ll come out, tomorrow. Annie sings he song on loop in my head as I find myself running, running to the end of the boardwalk. Out of breath and elated, I find my bare feet hanging over the edge, begging to jump off. What’s stopping you? I ask myself. The grin and free feeling course through my veins, convincing me of ridiculous notions. Why couldn’t I cross the ocean? Why couldn’t I sprout fins and sing a song, becoming a siren? What would be so wrong about diving deep, deep down and never coming back up. But then my eyes again meet the sunset, and I choose to stay and change my reality and purpose. I was made to love, and I will not give up.

Dark Tunnel

When did I realize I truly believe?
How did I know I could finally see?
Wasn’t a feeling coursing through veins,
Was not a guilt trip or feeling of shame,
No. No it was through my love for people,
Never through the admiration of a steeple,
But rather talks, theology, and hope,
There is no one else I depend on at the end of my rope.
In need of You, never the opposite way,
I’ve learned it is much much more than what we say,
I’ve fallen in love with You and trained my mind,
I don’t want this filthy flesh, but want Your love to shine.

Beauty (free writing)

God is beauty. We are the beast.

What do we see when we look at a person? Maybe, that is the correct question instead of the peculiar feeling that we must see God to believe in Him. When we look at someone else, do we see an outfit? Or clothes? Or nails, or a purse or something materialistic? If I were to see someone on the street in need, I might go to them, might. But at the same time, I may just judge them. Beauty lies in a kind heart: to act justly, love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God. I feel as if I’ve been focusing on beauty that could never compare to God’s beauty planned for me, but which I felt would be an adequate substitute. I am the angry conspriacy theorist, however I am also the materialistic one. I focus on what others will think instead of what God will think. I seem to fail, and fail, and fail. I do not end up trusting in Him, but try to go my own way. I pray that when I fall this time, I will depend on God to pull me back up.

Goodbye, Hello: The Transformation

I lost myself in your eyes. The ocean mist surrounding your pupils swallowed me and transformed me into a girl who is no longer a loner, but a lover of life. I easily fell in love with you, the same way two hands find each other unconsciously. There is no piece of me that you don’t know. There is nothing you could do to end this love I feel for you. I willingly jumped into that greenish blue and when I came out again I was fresh and new. I feel most like me when I am with you. I’ve waved farewell to what I used to be and found myself wholly in you. It is hard for me to imagine going any amount of time being no longer part of we, going back to just a me. I can’t figure out an exact day I knew, but I have found slowly and all at once that you are the one I’m meant to be with.


One day I woke up and figured out that I didn’t care about you, or the stupid, insecure things you threw my way. I stopped caring about the way you laughed at my heels and my hair. I just don’t mind what you think anymore.

One day, I woke up and figured out I’m in love with you, and nothing else seemed to matter.

One day I realized how badly I treat you, and how that needs to change. I realized saying I love you is not just a phrase but a commitment. I apologize.

One day, I realized this little body of mine is all I’ve got. I was fearfully and beautifully made, and it’s time I believed it. Make-up or no make-up, I am beautiful.

One day, I figured out what Your love truly means, and I want to continue to live in these revelations You give me. Guide me and my path. You do not need me. You are all sufficient. It is me who needs You.


Today I choose to believe in me. When you’re a kid, you depend on other people to hold you up, to tell you you’re beautiful, you’re loved. A lot of times it helps you and you feel better, and you believe in them. But what about when the rest of the world pushes you down and says you’re no good? What then? What about when momma is too worried about the bills to tell you you’re pretty, and daddy doesn’t come home anymore, and your friends push you down and tell you you’re ugly? Psalms 139 is where I turn, telling me I’m pretty and beautiful and loved. God gives me the confidence I lack, making me rephrase my question. Instead of saying why am I not good enough, I’ll say when will everyone else see what You already know? Today, today, I believe. No boys will be the ones who convince me, no physical connection, no momentary passion will give me self esteem. No, only You.

I believe in You, and because of that, I believe in me.


I never expected this to happen. Us. The Us in my mind, the one I predicted, dated for a while and then kind of teetered out. The Us now comes to my house every week, the Us now sneaks off to go dance alone, the Us now goes to the park and never gets out of the truck. The Us in reality is scarier, better, lovelier than I ever could have dreamed. You are my prince, saying and doing all the right things without even trying. I mock you about so many things, make fun of you, push and shove you, only to laugh and pull you against me and kiss you softly, whispering I’m sorry. I’ve found that there is no escaping you. Your serious talk about the future is frightening sometimes, but I don’t know if it’s your talk that scares me or more the fact that I believe it and contribute to it. It’s funny how the girl who promised to never get married now laughs about whether or not we’ll have a cat in our apartment. Just like the trees in your metaphor, you are a part of me, and we’ve become something else entirely from what we used to be as individuals. From the endless movies we never end up watching to the dancing in my shed to Balmorhea, to coffee to flowers, from kissing to teasing to small talk, there’s not a minute I regret. It’s silly to think that we are the ones to make it, huh? To think that as high schoolers we can know what love is, or think that we’ll make it against the rising odds. But if we don’t believe we can make it, who will? Let everyone else doubt us, let everyone else tell us it’s not possible. When everyone else is yelling and shouting and making racket, I promise I’ll hold on tight to you and whisper in your ear “I love you,” and “We’ll make it.” When they’ve beaten us down and we are laying on the floor, cracking under the pressure, I’ll bury my head in your shoulder, kiss your neck, and drown them out. I’ll stand by you.

The Adultress

Pick me, pick me, pick me, is my cry. I sing it out to the doctors who don’t wear their wedding rings at work, to the preacher, to the clergy men. I sing, letting my angel voice carry to married men. Tempting them, I walk around the office, intercepting their schedules, sending winks, small flirting, a brush of the hands. How’s your wife? I ask, pitying them, pitying the monogamous.

Tell me, please tell me:

Can she make your heartbeat like I can?

Can she understand you like I can? I can make you love me.

My daddy left me, my daddy raped me, my daddy loved me. I need someone, I need you. Hot breath, late nights, mysterious phone calls, just friends, just coworkers. Promises to leave your wife, we both know. We both know you never will. You told me you love me, please, don’t leave. Please, tell me I’m the one for you, make me feel special if just for one night. Last night your eyes were a twinkling green, but this morning at work they are a cold black, neglecting me, pretending I am just another coworker. I may work from nine to five, but I was working with you late last night. Where’s the man?

Please. I can’t go on without you. Please. Come back to me. Why haven’t you returned my calls? Is it your wife? Can she make your heartbeat like me? She doesn’t love you like me, please come back.

The Adultress. No one loves her right? Jesus is in love with this broken woman. The saddest part is she can’t love herself.