Oh hey there. Also, a poem.

So, I haven’t written in a while, and it’s because I’ve been afraid to.

My last posts were long and epic and full of life lessons, which, frankly, is not me–at least not all the time. I can’t keep up with my old-blogger self. I’m not always deep. So, today, I rededicated and renamed the blog. From now on, this blog is going to be like a combination journal/collection of lists/poem book/storyboard/ranting space/love letter/random thought organizer. It’s my creative outlet where I can talk about pretty much anything, whether it’s Jesus or my friends or how much I love cheesecake. Please do not expect anything profound (at least not most of the time). I’m just a girl whose mind wanders a lot. And sometimes I write things down.

So, while I freak out about what I’m going to write for my next actual journal-y post, here is a poem I wrote, called “Wind Song.” It’s a couple years in the making, but last June I made my final edits to it in my poetry class, and I think it’s finally complete. And now I’m sharing my poem on the Internet. Which is sort of frightening but also exciting. Here it is.


Wind Song

In a hushing field
     a breeze ushers my bare feet.
In this moment, I am older
    than I have ever been.
And yet,
standing still,
                  I am stirred
                         by dawns spilt on a violet horizon
               by the hope of breathing out
                    and the miracle
                                       of eyelashes
   shuddering open to reveal
                                   I am stirred,
                                acquiescent red clay
                                                in the persistent fingers
                                                                 of the wind.
                                           I am swayed
      by the quiet rumors of the grass
   and the fragile
                           of soft skin,
                                   and whispered wishes on
                                                dandelion fluff,
                                                          small, secret prayers
                                                                            floating on
                                                                       a delicate pilgrimage to Heaven.
                                                   I am moved
           by the fiery tempest inside his eyes
   and melodies
   by memory, the treasured gift
          and unrelenting curse
             of beating hearts,
   and by abandoned laughter
       under the shade of bone-white poplar trees,
                                at once living
                               and dying,
                       growing up and down.
In the hushing field
   a breeze ushers my still, bare feet.
            So I step once,
                                     and I am baptized
                                                         in the knowing that
                                                                                    in this moment,
                                                                                                 I am younger
                                                                                                                than I will ever

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