They Made Me This Way

Sharing like it was a dream
When I share it, I awaken
memories that others live with,
haunting them of what was done to me

Many excuses to justify what they knew
Many substances to numb what they didn’t
Many expiration dates way past due
It was a void, a dream, a past

The pillow I used as a child
is full 
of used up tears,
angry screams asking “Why?!”
And angry prayers asking “When?!”

Each memory I still feel
Each memory I still forget
Each memory unlocks more clues
Each memory is the same

I was more present than all of them
I was new
I was trusting
I was only a child

Walking in the morning as an adult,
wandering into the horizon
with no thoughts –
no destination

I was looking for me
For that little boy from many years ago
I wanted to let him know
that we’re going to be okay

If they didn’t make us this way
we may not have saw
there is another 
way – a different path
Extremes make visibility clearer

The pain wants to create clones
More generations of pain makers
More cycles of dream takers
That crossroad came and we walked

The path towards the abyss was tempting
It was where everyone else was facing
It was normal
It was home

We walked away from the zombies,
the substances, the destruction,
and walked back to our heart

Little boy from years ago,
know that we will be different
We will live with honor
We will live with truth

What made them that way?
Little boy, now a man,
together we still don’t understand

A way they made us,
not by walking it,
by not walking it,
by not talking about it,
the way was revealed

They are our precious teachers
for they show us how not to be
and taught us everything we’re not
They made us this way

A way, a path, a direction to take
leading us closer to our hearts –
how the Creator intended us to be

All those labeled as heroes or villains
when asked how they got there
have the same answer
in the form of a question –
How else would you have turned out if you were me?


Keep Painting and Stop Tainting

People are always painting pictures of other people and want you to take the picture they painted and hang it up in your house so you can have a bad opinion about another person, or change your mind about your positive experiences with another person. Those aren’t even paintings, they’re tainting. Just old, contrived collages of opinions that have nothing to do with how that person is now, or what God will grow that person into.
Here’s the deal, if you know someone long enough you will have both positive and negative experiences with them, and they with you. We all have our days. We all fall. We all make mistakes. We have all hurt someone and we have all been hurt. Bypass all that and just keep working on you.
Keep painting and stop tainting. Paint better and better pictures of yourself and let God hang those pictures in God’s house. 


Too Simple to be Heaven

Too Simple to be Heaven
As the sea reminds us of eternity
The grains of sand are equally certain
Certain in eternity, infinite, unknown
So fear set in and a roadblock
to remembrance was created

Created from the reminders of eternity
Created from what keeps us humble
Created to create a known
Created to not feel humility –
a gratitude with The Creator

The original dream of paradise
wasn’t good enough
No place to take pride,
hang a name, or have the credit
The enjoyment of bounty,
balance, and freedom
wasn’t enough

They devised a way to make
a need for more out of something endless
They took the reminders
of sharing, enough, and simplicity
They took them from the earth
mixed them together and began to build
They built, and built, and built,
and are still building
It’s never enough, enough is contentment –
that’s what they’re running from

Running from the memory of our Oneness
Developing more hurt
with more development
Attempting to override destruction
with more construction

Though some still long
for the place of the original dream,
thought, time, and space
Those who remember
never drank the mix
Longing for what they knew
it was
before it was this
Seeing what can be
for the future
of our children
They see all the children
can have enough

Those who remember
are called naive, unrealistic
They’re told
“Shut up, it’s not the way of the world!”
Heaven whispers,
“It used to be and can be again.”
Heaven’s whisper
is drowned out with sounds of progress 

Coursing through
the veins of destruction
a flow of mixture
that’s always given
enough money to eat
It’s always eating
and given the priority –
it’s why money was made
It has become a false god
by those denouncing false gods

Before they used it
to cover the earth
Before they used it
to incarcerate our children
They drank it
deep within their hearts
Devouring cement
to devour a memory
that’s too simple to be Heaven