the bit of you that I took

when our skulls collided

in the dark, too fast

both so desperately clumsy

happily awkward, but still

I saw your eye sockets hollow,

your zygomatic processes pronounced

over your stupid beard.

Time always got away from us, didn’t it?

I lost a contented five and a half hours, and left

always right. (stairsteps) You won everything

but me, I lost the peace of you.


I wouldn’t mind sand and salt

in my hair, which I imagine long and unkempt

loose about my shoulders, sticking

bare skin cool in pools of gathering water about my limbs

the sunlight gleams on my ocean, always setting, always rising

your voice elevates in pitch and I turn

the foamy white waves turning with me,

hair billowing, suspended in watery space,

the anger I was trying to let go of

returns in full force. I don’t want to hate,

so I will focus it, damn this table between us.

and the switch clicks off again, I am

somewhere drowning and you are still talking rivers of words at me

falling too fast.

I swore off clothing stores this year. For I know I deserve to be dead, and the least I can do is practice being responsible with money by reconsidering what it is that makes me feel pretty or want to get up in the morning.

Another step: I am desperate, truly desperate, to add an exclamation point to my life, bringing my heart and mind to ultimate heights of love and understanding of The Lord’s purpose in my life, so I will also not eat for a while.

I am emptying myself of all but my baptism. I only know that I am deep in sin and frustration, desperate for guidance – not art, not music, not any major decision can save me. I must stop living with this darkness, chase it free with true focus that will be brought with this fast.

In the Lord’s time, I will that I live another day. I read nothing but your Word, I am desperate. I listen to naught but songs to you, I am dying. I eat nothing, drinking only water, I must have your peace and joy.

I must sound insanely crazed. Know that I am truly serious about this. My spiritual walk has weakened, I found myself sitting by the wayside rather than running. So onwards I sprint, carried by prayer and dedication. I know I am more than this and I must be more than this.


This land has smiled up around me, and I am caught in the bottom of it,

Resting to still (like these canal waters)

Before I am drunk by my hungry, looming future.

But for now, I dream, I float

Swirling away these bite marks and bruises in the foamy waves

My feathers dry. I am healed in Heerenveen.

I awake, and for a moment see a sheet of green,

A wall of ever-emerald.

I am not clever, or anything interesting

But I will do interesting and worthwhile things

And be forgiven – this makes me beautiful.

I do not remember those

Weaseling into my heart, burrowing through my sternum

Currying favor to eat at my chest. I am not defined by

White skin anymore, or my marks in flesh and school.

Let me be sucked out of my boots

Into a windmill slipstream, alternatively energetic.

I am swimming in this wild lily pasture, let

The cows and sheep eat the green of my face. Recycle

My bones as jewelry and handbags, I will

Fit in blend in here.

starting point.

I need to start writing about depression.

That’s why I started this blog in the first place, to be an outlet for my thoughts as I went through the stress of culture shock. As time went on, however, and I kept avoiding the subject, this became something else.

All I’m saying is, if you don’t want to read about depression, stop reading this blog.

Thanks to all of my followers who have been so unbelievably encouraging over the past year. You have no idea how lovely your little comments on my posts have been.


something new.

Dear Anna,

I keep saying to everyone how much I miss you,

but it isn’t direct enough, I want to scream it out since you aren’t here

and that’s what is on my mind.

Today, I walked out into the frigid air and tossed my head back the way you always do,

arms out, just experiencing exactly where you are to the fullest you possibly can.

Snowflakes tumbled all over me, my

eyelashes were covered in little fluffy flakes.

If you had been there, you would have

understood how weird all this is, that

something as little as snowflakes in eyelashes is

totally new and foreign, overwhelmingly strange.

Someone sang a song we’ve sung countless times in the kitchen,

I carried the harmony without even thinking, half-expecting

your mellow tones to spring up out of the air and croon out the melody

in that dusky, raw voice of yours.

We’re older, yes, we’re growing, things are changing,

but that doesn’t change the fact

that no one asks me what I dreamed about

when I wake up.