I am individual.
Fearfully and wonderfully made; the crucible of molten struggles
Blood sweat and tears crushing me together like mandibles
Hammered gently into place by obstacles that may or may
not have been of my own creation.
I was fearfully and wonderfully made.
My purpose undeniable, gravity weighing my heart like shackles,
Burdening me with greatness that I’m able to achieve,
Even if I don’t believe that myself.
I am unique and special
No one has a story like mine, its arcane and mystical
A whimsical mystery that to others are fables
Fickle against the sands of time, lines written as it grinds against
The memories of my mind’s vestibule.
Can anyone know it?
None can truly understand because their perspective is different to mine.
They are never inclined to see through my eyes,
Steep as the hills they may climb they’d always fail the hill test.
It may be manual to them, but automatic through mine
Eyes still blurry as the mirror of my soul trine to my thoughts
As God’s divine light lay incident on it.
Incidentally, they may say they love me but how can they love what they do not know.
How can they hope to bear the fruits of what they never sowed
And trust that it be sweet when they have no idea how bitter it can be.
Through the cross of Christ His mercy may provide a way perhaps.
I am individual. Single and forever I shall remain.
Whether tied to another and founded to be in unison or tethered forever to the chains of my lonesome I will refrain.
The melody of my heart strumming to the beat of my feet as I keep pressing toward the mark of His high call.
Rest when I fall but a righteous man will rise again.
In times of treble I know where my help comes from; no one but Him
And so I base myself upon His foundation; the clef of the rock.
The only surety His shores shall bring to me,
The rest won through battles of anxiety and uncertainty.
I am individual. I am me.
I am exactly who He made me to be.







I feel like when I write my words don’t say enough
I’m afraid that if I go too deep my message will be out of touch,
Like, my mask has grown too thick, so much that
I don’t remember what my face looks like anymore.
It’s such that any more of this falsehood poetry
Is going to pull false hoods over me like dark hoodies
Strait jackets that keep the insanity inside but never let it out.
I silence my own self. my cries for help oust my cries for help;
Does that even make sense? I’m smothered incense, incensed
By the sensations of my fingertips behind the pen.
Some call it brilliant; art; beautiful and unique
But the proprieties of my piety to me feel like blasphemy
Because I’m afraid staying true to who I am has left me forgotten.
Why tell my story if no one listens? Or hears, but loses the message that was written?
I bleed lines across the streets for them to sleep in drains and puddles;
I bleed into hearts but my blood is muddled.
Plasma they can’t see on their Plasmas, the doors to their soul shut
To the reality of my life as it separates to blood and water;
Sprinkling on altars as offerings in hope of help in my suffering
But what meets me is congratulations and applause.
No pause to see the reason behind these lines
No concern for the times that produced them.
No cause to reflect or introspect; just a waste.
The strife as I play poltergiest to make these words come to life
Tossing ideas and swinging songs across their minds
It comes to bite me in the behind because all I wanted to say was I’m sorry.
I messed up, and God forgave me; thank God!
I love you but I’m scared to show it.
I miss you but don’t want you to know it; cause I know you’re busy.
You tore my heart out but I’ve learnt to survive.
I need more friends like you. I need friends.
I’ve been having a really difficult time. Please pray for me.
Life is beautiful. Take a moment to enjoy it.
I’m a broken soul behind a fake smile.
I sometimes think nobody really cares.
I actually just want to serve God with my life, and don’t care for material things.
I talk too much.
Maybe if I learnt to shut up and just say how I feel, things would be different.
Maybe if I just trust in Jesus instead of fighting so hard to be perfect, then I’d actually become it.
Maybe if I just said want I wanted to say, you wouldn’t want to listen.

Castaway: The Second Epistle

O dearest of mine,
I know we don’t see eye to eye, but in my defense it’s hard to spy
you when we’re oceans apart.
This faint heart beats hard watching the stars above the sea,
Riding this heart rate to Mars as the pressure of not having you
Around scars it with hope of a day where we’d be reunited.
But body and mind fight daily to climb the hills of this island.
Toiling through the anxiety I’ve found shelter and meal,
The appeal of survival as a means to the end of us;
Not that we’d end but in the end us will still be.
But this survival has been spelling the end.
E, everyday as the curves of the swirls grow more enticing,
The temptation of the island’s fruit reminding me of a sweetness
That I reminisce about;
N, the nagging at my heart strings every time the birds sing our song;
They flock together and I’m left to be without the right pair;
Just a sole survivor in my imaginations that salvation could come to us;
And the idea that Mrs. Right is still out there.
I shoo a pesky crab that tried to snap at my ankle.
D: the Day I decide to give up. I can’t say how far survival has gotten
But its hard to focus on what is hoped for when the realities of life demand my attention.
I can’t begin to mention how much I’ve fought to not call this island home;
I’ve heard that home is where your heart is, and I refuse to plant my flag
Anywhere within this island because it’s not where I want to be;
I’ve had tears, fear and hopelessness for company,
And they haven’t been the best friends but they’ve helped me feel comfy,
Growing accustomed to hard floors and wet feet.
I’d much rather wish to adorn this paper with the gems of your beauty
But it’s grown faint and I only see in the mirror dimly;
I only wish to speak the truth.
The truth is I’m alone; You’re out there as my home
and I’m here as the prodigal; longing to depart
With this parchment on the journey to your dorms.
That’s where home is to me.
The epitome of sanctity, encased within the body
Life breathed into and alas it became living.
Away from the spice of this isle
That extends for miles beyond my reach.
It’s sweetness leaves me bitter
As it quicker serves as anchor than propeller
And so with urgency I deploy this letter.
My prayer is it is delivered,
just as the first within this bottle as my messenger.
Signed, sealed, and administered.
As may this second find you and the first together.
I still love you.



Castaway: The First Epistle

O dearest of mine,
My eyes incline across shore lines each and every day.

My heart is crushed and swept away by waves of time

Sand in hour glass; hours dipped into days that pass

Without a hint of where you’ve been.

I miss you.

These words stain like residue on my ragged clothes;

They impose insults like tissues on gashes; They fail to heal these wounds I feel.

My mind reels with thoughts of survival, thoughts of you my catch, baited by the hope that I might see you again;

For you see, I’ve fallen for you hook line and sinker.

The hook to the lines of this song being that I sink her;

This boat we both came on; but I refrain from singing those lines again.

This island could’ve been paradise; but I fear it’s more like hell without you.

You only feel stranded when what matters most is gone from you and so I call this island deserted.

Yet I have no choice but to call this place home

Because its shore is my only constant;
I’m not sure to see you again and so my home cooked
meals are regret and resentment.
It was all smooth sailing until we hit the rock;
The storms were raging and in titanic climax,
it all fell apart.

Dashed to pieces like the ribbon at the end of the race:

Our time together finished. First came love,
Then came disaster;
Third the foundation broke apart, and tumbling after came the

I wish I could’ve said to you that I knew what I was doing;
That I was the captain and assured you the safety from
The thunder;

But I blundered. My misguided arrogance was the ignorance that tore us asunder;
I was oblivious to the nautical stimulus
That drove us overboard. By the time I recognized what
had happened, it was gone.
My joy, my peace; my everything.

All that’s left is the glistening of these here bottles
and fumbling of my fingers on the parchment,
Trying my best to not mess this up too.
I still can’t believe I’ve lost you;
I don’t know where you are; A prisoner to the sea,
it’s unknown to me; in the garrison of some foreign
mission; a slave to the Bermuda triangle; all bad angles
if you look at it.

All I know is what you meant to me.
You were my serenity in a trying time;
A partner in crime set up by the divine;
Navigating me towards destinies that meant the best for me: You were genuinely concerned for me.
Your company was the Vitamin C for my scurvy,
The Gravol for my journey, the way for me

To rest easy. The safe place for me to speak freely,

To arrest the daily façade of niceties to just have
a place of honesty and community.
My prayer partner; my life partner. My trophy.
I didn’t win any competition though; I was just so lucky

To have you.

I know this in itself is folly, but in light of the

Current affairs that surround this ocean,
My prayer is that this gets to you.

A response is even more an absurdity but as long
As I believe you are out there,
I must believe.

I’ll trust you. So trust me.
Signed, sealed, and administered.
In this vessel, I pray it be delivered.

I love you.


Contemplations in the dark.


What is this? What is this that persists
To tease tears out my eyelids like A group
Of kids impoverished round about a dried up faucet;
Why is it that every facet of my life leaks?
Why are there rivers of crying water that cannot be shut up
Cause it was pressed down, shaken together and now running over
to the hundred folds in my abdomen;
In critique of my acumen to press toward high marks
But when He calls I fall short and graze my knees…
I’m crying please give me a break!
Put a stop to the gushing drops of the ball,
Hands slippery trying to stop the discharge of melancholy
Fully aware of the folly yet confused as to the mystery
As to how did I get so far.
Stuck depths below par in a hole scarred by failed attempts
To time and time again reach the bar
Sunken in misery; awakened to the epiphany
That I have reached the epitome of depression.
I’m typically hard on my self;
And so I’m hard pressed for answers;
you could say I’m wine pressed;
Cause all I’ve ever wanted was what was best for those around me;
Hands full in service with no strength left for the diamond of my psyche;
Crushed in the futility and sinking in an ocean of uncertainty.
I don’t know what is wrong with me.
Asking if I’m ok doesn’t help me because I know that I’m not,
But I don’t know why.
Can’t miss the water cause I’m welling up with legitimate smears:
I’m brushing my tears back.
Hands full, Mind tired and no rest in sight.
Rolling in my bed till 4:35 with insomnia as company
Hoping like the sun I will rise.
One Day I will, for I know joy comes in the morning.
but for now I’ll remain in mourning.



You ever feel like you’re not good enough?
I have. It’s been rough trying to tough it out there where no one cares
And all your luck brings you are bad circumstances.|
No matter how much times you chance it
Failure keeps coming back like some bad romance.
It’s not that fun now is it?
I don’t know about you, but I tend to feel like Jonah.
His persona is tied to one who tried to
Do it on his own, but God had different plans.
It took a great fish to help him understand his death wish of trying to appose his maker
And in the end he was angry because God was a savior instead of a bringer of fire and brimstone.
I perspire when I think about purpose.
It always has this eerie ring to it like if the Holy Spirit gonna come in like a wrecking ball and go all hadoken!
On your plans and all you can do is tremble as he says hey.  Ninevah. Now.
Yet somehow I always come around and i don’t know how but it just leaves you in awe of who God is.
As you reminisce of his goodness and the way leaves you breathless as you’re drowning with feet off the ground
Heart pounding eyes on his hand reaching out to o ye of little faith.
And you put a little faith and start to make baby steps on oceans deep
And creep to your daddy with tears in your eyes cause the storms came in and left you shaken and all you can do is crawl to Him.
I don’t know about you but I’m all to familiar with that weakness.  But that’s when He is strong.
There’s something about  being as weak as chaff that causes that fire to burn.
Despite your reluctance the Holy Spirit comes up with just the right heat to set you ablaze.
He instills a crazed desire in your heart to be a part of his great mission, and big fish or no, there’s a fire shut up in your bones
And to  that Ninevah you go, knowing Who is in control.
You know that as you march your nemesis brings the genesis of his plots to lead you into captivity
But no weapon formed against thee will prosper.
Little did he know that your exodus draws nigh, and while he might be vex with us,
Who vex loss because the boss has already spoken when he said it’s done…
It’s finished.
And your spirit jumps for joy as you employ yourself to be used by him once again.
Despite your anxiety Christ brought the remedy of love power and a sound mind
As he was so inclined to see us at his side that he died at the cross for us.
So go.
You might be a failure like me,
But God brings the victory and his comforter is right there to assure your safety.
So go.
You might be afraid of how you’d be seen but he sees you
and smiles as you choose to not give in.
So go,
Let him guide you
And don’t try to act like you’re in control. Just go.
Be still and know that He is God,
And he’s greater than any force of nature that would raise their hand against you.


Not Well Enough


You’re just about there.
Hands outstretched toward that line
That speaks lines of success and worth,
Yet abrasive against your fingertips
Cause as you grasp at it, it slips
And leaves you face down on the pavement uttering this statement with your lips….
I failed.
Failure has a strange ability to conjure
Fears and inadequacies where you falter
And whispers doubts into conjecture that grips your heart and squeezes the joy out.
Blood gushes and then circulates.
Your body in efforts to compensate
Drains its energy into it as it courses through… leaving you depressed and desolate.
You did do well though… just not well enough.
And it wells in your eyes as it gets tough
To cry rivers and streams to the Father
For some reason it just gathers.
It musters within the heave in your chest
And weighs you down as you try your best
To breathe.
To find some reprieve in the ones to whom you cleave
But warm hearts and cold shoulders don’t always cause lungs to expand.
It’s just a second hand smokescreen that became your nicotine and gave you lung cancer.
The answer is  simple. His yoke is easy. His burden is light.
He takes delight in easing your pain.
He delights in making you whole again.


Letter to the Persecuted Church


To my people who cry out for justice with busted lips
Who fall on the deaf ears of torturers who treat them with silence;
And no, not the master who drives the whip and stones
Or the family member who drives them out their homes…
Us: the Body. The saved by grace through faith body
Go to church on Sunday acting like we’re somebody
Cry Abba for a raise in salary Body.
I know you’ve all been waiting to hear from us.
Perhaps just for a word of encouragement.
That perhaps our prayers aren’t as minuscule as the budget
We allocate to actually profit the Kingdom.
Worse yet for you.
We’re not accustomed to reaching out further than our comfort zone to
Do anything other than enlarge our territory
Move mountains to get a better view of the Promised Land
Given by the promised hands of tongues twisted by the love of funds
Rather than the love of people.
Building treasures to the heavens instead of heavenly treasures,
It’s no wonder we lost sight of you.
A mirage of prosperity and success in ministry
Dwarfs the sincerity of our charity.
It has narrowed our eyes so we can’t see overseas
Or even stretch a hand beyond the borders of our community…
Some kind of body we are.
My persecuted people, today I bend  my knees
In humility and earnest apology
For the neglect that we display daily.
It kills me to know that my brother suffers
And I bring nothing to offer.
But no more.
Today I stand in solidarity with my persecuted family
One with them in unity in prayer that others may see
And submit to the necessity that our prayers are necessary
That our faith would inspire works to bring words
That work together for their good,
That we’d seek to help in whatever way we can; we should.
That even perhaps someone would make the reasonable service
To sacrifice themselves daily to lend assistance
Because they too need Jesus and to be surrounded by the Body.
Yes. The Body.
The love others like ourselves Body.
The go out of their selves taking stocks of shelves to ship it
to those who need it Body.
The give till it hurts Body.
The Body that Christ inspires us to be.