Tag Archives: Creative Writing

Jewels of Her Tears

The tears of a woman
Are jewels from the hand of heaven.
They are a down payment
On a future of love, joy, and companionship.

A man who can’t handle
The tears of a woman
Will never treasure the heart of a woman.
Abba numbers a woman’s tears.
He dances with the happy tears,
Weeps as she mourns,
And acts justly on the angry tears.
A man who follows after Abba’s heart
Will wisely and judiciously
Count each shed tear
A jewel in his heavenly crown.
He will treasure the trust
She shows by crying before him.
He will never harm
A weeping princess of God Most High.

Only a sophomoric sop turns his back.
Only a fool ignores a woman who weeps.
Only a coward scorns the jewels falling from her face.

Your Mistake

You were given a treasure,
A jewel of great value
Buried in the dust
Among the graves and ruins of humankind,
But you were young.
You lacked experience.
You were befuddled by the weeping woman-child.
You could have held her,
But you hung your arms bewildered.
She could have been yours,
Whisked away from another man-child.
You could have wooed her all night,
But you botched the job.
You passed her off.
Who knows what was lost that night?

Waiting Room

Sitting and waiting
On a day we knew would come for months
Exhaustion wrestles anxiety in an epic match
It looks like exhaustion has anxiety in a submission hold
But anxiety kicks out
I know you’re in good hands
But I’m alone
Help asked for always denied
So Jesus sits watching invisibly at my back
If I could dig trust out of the heart closet
Life would be better for us all

For My Husband…

Author’s Note: This is based on the song, “Bless the Broken Road,” performed by both Selah and Rascal Flatts. I’m including a link to the Selah version here.

“Bless the Broken Road” in surround sound–
And I believe every word,
Yet the pain in the journey
Sears my heart and floods my eyes.
It wasn’t the North Star
Leading me to your arms.
It was the man
Your broken road shaped in you,
Blessed by Jesus.
But my road still isn’t straight,
And I can’t find the joy and strength
To bless my broken road.
Hold me close and don’t let me go
Until joy in the journey dries my eyes.
Bless me with your love.
Hold me in your arms and on my feet.

Love me
Until I can love you
The way you deserve.

 

Zippy Takeover, #13

The Game

I know I told you before about the game I like to play with my humans. They have these big black bags of all the fun things they don’t think are that important. Most of the time, they take them away before I ever get to play. Worse, when I try to play, they really move and take those bags away.

So now I wait until they’re sleeping or until they leave me all alone. I used to like being alone, but now I miss them when they leave. So when they forget, I run straight toward the black bag and slide into it. This makes the bag open and the opening falls to where I can reach it.

Oh, then I’m just… well… happy beside myself. I dig into the bag until all the toys are all over the floor. Then I roll and roll and bat things and wiggle my tail. Sometimes, I pick up things with my teeth and run into furniture to feel how the thing gets when it hits something. Sometimes, I hide things all over for my humans to find (but lately, they close doors so I don’t have too many hiding places).

But when they come home, they don’t look too happy. They’re not excited like I am. They look almost mad. Then they pick up all the toys, put them into the bag, and the bag goes out to be stolen after a few nights.

The Other Game

These humans so like and forget they like their weird bones. The bones do such wonderful things: pictures on the box change, air blows from the wall, warm places come from the floor. I’m starting to try to protect the weird bones so my humans don’t lose them. They always seem to forget where the bones are and act like they can’t get them. Don’t they know how important it is to always know where your bones are?!? So I’ll help them. But again they don’t seem to like it too much when I help. I don’t understand.

I’m Confused

I used to have a second bed in my Mom and ‘On’s room. Sometimes, I even got to sneak up on their bed.

But lately, my bed moves. I have been with each of the whelps for a few nights. Every few nights, the whelps move me to another whelp room.

Is this a special reward? Did I do something right? Or am I doing something so wrong I can’t be with Mom and ‘On? I don’t understand.

Letting Go

Author’s Note: Hoping against all hope this is the last on this topic for this year. Late fall was never my time of year; I always seemed to face tough decisions with the wrong outcome or received bad news. (Yes, I am publishing way after authoring. 🙂 )

Always different, never fitting in,
Meandering, orbiting, never connecting,
Yet somehow I found brothers and friends.

But the shackle on my finger
Locked the blinders on my eyes.
A weapon invisible in the distant mists
Barred me from taking the shackle and blinders off.

My heart was frozen…
My mind was a rock…
My tongue was a sword…

I wanted to push you away,
To protect you,
I couldn’t, wouldn’t cradle bloody, cold corpses.

I just wanted to hide in the open for a while
So your lives could shine.

I called “Olly-Olly-Oxen-Free,”
But you were all gone,
Like sand flowing over my fingers
Digging at the shore.

Some are lost, some are found,
And nothing’s coming back,
Nothing’s back for me now.

And though I’ve seen light and life and joy,
The prison door’s still open.
I crawl in,
Covered in my briny tears,
Wallowing in guilt and loss, shame and remorse.
Then push out,
Becoming a joy filled robot again.

Someday…
I want to tear the prison down;
I want to let it all go;
I want to really live free with joy.

For now…
It’s only words–
Too few at the time,
Too many too late.

Rock, Paper, Scissors… Gun!

Author’s Note: In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’ve been some very dark places. But I am in a good place now. So with the help of appropriate supports I am going back to the dark places and giving myself the voice I didn’t have then. This is dedicated to all victims and survivors of domestic violence, dating violence, and relationship abuse.

Rock, Paper, Scissors…
Simple child’s play.
Nerds ramped it up
Based on dark places.
Gun scares dog.
Gun burns paper.
Gun shoots lizard.
Spock disarms gun.
Rock smashes gun.
Scissors jam gun.
But that’s child’s play,
And the little girl in the woman can’t play.
She can’t come out to play.
The gun not held to her head
Jams her heart and mind.
She cries and shakes and begs:
What kills gun in real life,
What kills gun in real life?!?
Gun scares girl.
Gun burns friends.
Gun doesn’t shoot yet…
Why didn’t Jesus disarm the gun?
Why couldn’t love smash the gun?
Angels did jam the gun.
The gun blast never heard
Set off sparks in a powder keg.
Ring around the girl
Burns it all to ash
We all fall and never shine as we were meant to.
And still the ghost gun makes the little girl ask,
“What hurts gun?”