bone & rattle

Soothe my aching bones
Which creak and rattle
Before Your Throne.

O Lord
When will you come
Down from the heavens
So that Your will is done?

My saviour, forgive me
For I sin again against You,
I drown, rather than walk and sea.

Can I go to where Your cross stood?
And touch the sand or gravel or cement
Imagining it was blistered, splintered wood?

Glory to You, praise unto You,
I fracture but You reign
And Your gospel is still true.

Hey. You like girls. No – you love girls. You know and I know, but sometimes you need to hear it, for the days when it’s especially hard to accept. I don’t know why it happens; I don’t know why when you hear her laughter, your insides pirouette (never a trip, or a knot, always graceful, choreographed to the lilt of it). I can’t tell you why the nights are easiest when your mind is filled to the brim with her. I can’t even begin to answer why everything settles into place with her, how she can deconstruct the anatomy of you: take and rearrange your bones, rattle them free of burden (notions of ‘what ifs’ and ‘I can’ts’).

What I do know is that trying to deny it all would be like trying to pry away your shadow. But it’s always with you, regardless of whether or not you’re looking.

Though, some days you need to hear it. Some days you need to hear, “you’re not faking,” or “this is real.”

Sometimes, you just need to be reminded.


You love girls.
Nothing about that is fabricated, and everything about it is splendid.

I love you. 
I love you, I love you, I love you,
and I don’t give a damn what anyone has to say. 

Let them tell me that you will ruin me. 
Let them warn me about
     the blood pooling in the lines of your palm,
     the disaster lurking at the edges of your shadow,
     the sleepless nights and sunless days shifting in your eyes.
Let them talk their voices hoarse. 
I won’t listen, you know. 

I love you. 
I love you, I love you, I love you,
and even you cannot convince me otherwise. 

You can chase me away all you want, my love.
Wave your steel-blade fingers in front of my eyes.
Shout at me with your death rattle voice. 
Kiss me with your bloodthirsty lips. 
Rattle my bones with your earthquake heartbeat. 

Try all you want, my love,
but you cannot save someone who doesn’t want to be saved
and if loving you is damnation–
and if losing you is salvation—
then by God, I will leap into every circle of Hell
with my eyes wide open and a grin on my lips. 

As the snowman loves the Summer
As the shadow loves the Sun
As the boy with wings loves the Sea–

—  we all love what destroys us ( j.p. )

THE VISUALS ARE AMAZING (although there is a lot of flashing lights so be cautious of that)
You guys HAVE to watch it!

the reaper rows you across the dark murky river as you glance around, unable to make out anything past the fog
the water is pitch black
the moon is full

suddenly you see flames in the distance
there has to be some sort of mistake
you’re a good person
hell isn’t where you belong

you open your mouth to protest, to plead
but he slaps it shut with an icy hand, his bones rattling

silence then

he begins rowing again and you await your doom
meghan trainor plays softly in the distance

Your father could have been kinder,
he could have been gentler,
he could have held his tongue
and his fists.
For some of us he could have stayed,
for some of us he should have left,
for many of us it might have saved us if he told us that he loved us.
But despite him,
despite all of the times you felt yourself choking on hate for him,
despite the fear that still rattles your bones,
you are who you are despite of him.
You survived.
You learned to love and tend and mend, to be kind, to be gentle, to breathe.
Forgiveness really is for you.
—  Key Ballah, On Fathers