Fairy Tales

I pretend to be the realist who shuns the stories of true love
But deep down I'm just the little girl
who believes in fairy tales.

Lightbulbs

Live each day like it's your last
Love everyone like it's their last
Love cannot be forced, 
may never be returned,
but do it anyway.
Give it freely anyway.
Shower it upon others anyway.
This world is too broken
I can't fix it but I can
bring about a smile or two
in this sad place. 

Waiting on You

I'm living off my mother's prayers
Counting on the words of her lips
Moving towards the heavenly realm
For God to have mercy on me. 

Four cubs of age
Still struggling to perfect our hunt
We chase for miles prey of all kinds
More often than not end up with less than none.

I wish I knew what to do
I know I am less than faithful
By being real, are mistakes okay-ed
Excusable? I wish I knew.

He's there, I know, every hour and every day
His love, I know, binds me
Despite my violent adultery
Despite the volatile state of immaturity. 

His words I hide out of sight
From him I turn away from daily
The privilege of this knowledge I reject
His gift I push away voluntarily.

My voice refuses to speak
To the one who I believe loves me most
Who constantly calls out my name
But I'm blinded and deafened, a choice I had made.

I am frozen, broken
Numb, exhausted.
Strong, and capable
Happy, but tired. 

Tell me how to build this faith
From scratch once more.
Scream at me to save myself
Your daughter, from this path. 

For my faith is dry, and parched like a rock
Fractured but intact, covered in dust.
Unused, forgotten, but not abandoned
Just waiting on someone,
someone to shine it up. 

I'm living off my mother's prayers,
the words on her lips. 
Inside I'm cold, Lord, cold and getting blue
On nights that I weep you know
I'm just waiting on you. 

Nights with my Ukulele

Today has been particularly bittersweet
I wish that more could be said
But despite the disappointments
These four strings sooth my head.

I am not one for talent
I know but six chords the most
But this tiny wooden instrument
Chides about my morose. 

My voice is weak
But as long as I keep it soft
Maybe it'll sound sweet
To just me and God. 

I think about today
and I think about him
I hurt for the boy
Who has so much within.

I sing as I give thought
to the people that I love
And I wonder what matters
really, or why am I hurt.

Strumming these strings
Reveling in its sounds
they're not Mozart, not Beethoven
They're peaceful songs.

During the days I feel blissful joy
Others the night brings its spell with
As the clock strikes midnight, once more
The quiet sleeping dream awakes me once more.

In this ire, in this tire, 
I put my uke away.
Its comfort has come at a price;
Its music has made me melancholic. 

I wish I could understand why
such things happen so.
But the one thing I do so know
Is that I am thankful for
this tiny hollow wood
That makes my emotions laugh and cry.

Midnight Musing

For some reason I am suddenly the scared little girl hanging onto her mother's skirts again. For some reason, I feel lost, afraid, and I just want to be back in the safety of my mother's arms. 

Maybe it's the night. Maybe it's the clock striking midnight during which I tend to sink into a completely different trance, a mood that comes and goes like a fairy godmother's spell. Melancholy, feelings of nostalgia, fear, home, all merge into one picture as I sit and muse over happenings of life, and wonder where it'll take me. 

Over a year into life in Hawaii, and I'm finally settling in, breaking out of my shell, discovering things and finding my way through, meeting new people and treasuring those whom I already love. Life has just been... crazy, these past few days. Things have been so much fun, so interesting, so different. Exhilaration builds the adrenaline in my blood even as I juggle school, classes, homework and decisions. New experiences are exciting. I have never been so eager in my life to step out and explore what is before me, and beyond my horizon. 

Why then, am I suddenly afraid of this person I'm becoming? Why am I scared of change, why am I suddenly terrified of going on, when a few hours ago I was nothing but excited about everything that was happening? Why do I feel the sudden desire to just shrink back into my comfort zone, into my world of nostalgia, and hide out for a little while? I don't want to keep going anymore. I am afraid. I don't know this person I'm becoming, I don't understand how I've gone so long and in my blind excitement I failed to not recognize the person any longer. 

Change comes, I know. Change has to happen. But I've always been afraid of it. I've always questioned myself over my ability to accept change, to allow experiences to shape who I am for the better, and be less afraid of myself. I spent a year hiding, and being so very fearful. And then I branched out, and realized after the first step it wasn't that scary after all. 

In this withdrawal period, however, all I feel like doing is hiding beneath my covers, and pretending that nothing exists out there. Taking some time out right now feels like a great idea... but it's impossible. I have to go out there, and not let my fears conquer me. But how...? Part of me just wants to hide. To go back under my rock, and keep out of the scorching sun. Just for a while. Just for a little while. 

But time is too precious to waste. 

I don't know anymore. Feelings are conflicting, and scary, and confusing. Get me out of this world and take me back to my innocence. 

Growing up is so hard. I love this life, and yet I'm also afraid of it. What will it make of me. What will I become of it. Do I really dare to venture out...? 

What is this, really? 

Frozen

We put this love in a photograph
We make these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
And hearts were never broken
And time is forever frozen still

Control

How do you tell others 

that something is wrong

When deep down inside

You don't know what's going on

How do you get up and

smile and laugh

But when you're alone

it's just tears and sighs

How do you envision a

strip of dripping paint

without thinking of

the joy within

How do you stare at

those shapes in the past

Eyes that stare and glow

Surrounded by hearts

How do you see others'

sprightly bright lights

Without thinking of your own

So dull in sight

How do you live

Yet not alive

Just a sleeping zombie

A grenade in five

How do you lose all

of this thing called hope

when all this time it's been nothing but

Get-go and control.

Poor Love

I believe in God. I believe that Jesus is the one true way, the only way, to salvation. I believe it's truth. I believe in the Bible. I believe His word. 

But can I follow it? Do I want to? 

The struggle right now is real. Too many people have given up on God, and I admit that there have been multiple times when I was tempted to do so. But there is a part of me that refuses to deny Him, to renounce Him, to completely turn my back on my faith. There is no willing part of me that wants to do that, no matter which stage of my life I happen to be in. 

Right now, I am no daughter of Christ. Look at me. I am selfish, cold, disliked. I live for myself, not for God. I care for myself, and not enough for others. What sort of human have I become? 

I question everyday whether I am actually loved, because right now I don't feel loved whatsoever. I don't care what I heard in Sunday's sermon, I don't care anymore all those words of comfort that King David wrote in Psalms. None bring any comfort to me. Why? Because I asked for it. 

I'm not asking for self-pity. Fuck self-pity. I'm pissed at myself, for not being who I want to be. For being such a selfish bitch, for being cold and horrible. I could probably go and confide in a couple of people right now about how I feel, and they would instantly deny what I just said. 

I can already hear them saying, "No, Esther, why on earth would you say that! It's not true!" and then continuing with stuff about God and then futile attempts at prayer for me. I've had enough of that. I'm not beating myself up, I'm merely stating the damn truth. How many times will you try to convince me of a lie, to say I am otherwise?

I've had enough of humans. I've had enough of people trying to push God into my face. I've had enough of people pretending to be my friend, pretending to love me when in truth they turn their backs on me because in truth, I am a horribly selfish person. I am undeserving of love, because I know I take too much and give too little. What sucks is that you don't realize it until it's too late. 

You realize all these pretenses and then you figure out that you never fit in anyway, that being loved comes at a price. And you can't pay that price, because you're too poor. 

The split loyalty I have right now is driving me crazy. I can't do something stupidly drastic because that would be against what God says. And I am still bound to His rules(strange, isn't it). On the other hand, I've lost all trust in humans. I don't wish to be a part of them. 

I want to be in a different world. A world where I will be alone, but never feel lonely. 

Under the blue sky, in deep waters, maybe. 

A Happy Person

If my eyes didn't run
If my mouth wasn't  down
Maybe I'd be a happy person

If my nose wasn't like this
Or if my lips weren't like that
Maybe I'd be a happy person

If my hips were less wide
Or if my breasts were that size
Maybe I'd be a happier person

If my hair looked like that
If my skin could change
Maybe I wouldn't be filled with resentment

If only I was him
Or maybe I was her
Maybe I'd be a happier human.

If I could learn to let go
If I could see past the lies
I'd definitely be a happy person.

Take Me

Take me somewhere I belong
Take me somewhere I don't hurt
Take me somewhere I can smile
And laugh forever 
and ever 
and ever 
and ever

Take me somewhere I can breathe
You know, properly
Take me somewhere I can sleep
Sweetly
Truly
Peacefully

Take me somewhere I am whole
Take me somewhere I am healed
Take me somewhere bright and bold
Where I'm always warm and never cold 

Take me somewhere I'll be kind
Take me somewhere I'll have soul
Somewhere I'll be nothing but sublime
Take me somewhere I'll be fine. 

String of Nothings

I have a string 
A string of nothings
empty, empty like the wind
chilling and feeling biting and clawing
Going somewhere, fighting
North, South, East, West and maybe further
Twisted gusts of pent up fillings
a tornado is coming I here them saying
wait, wait, let us prepare but I can't I do
but have control.
Screaming in their little houses stop, stop,
let them out!
Strings twist tighter, a giant knot
Squeezing, heaving till there is no air
What sort of gust is this, this airless wind
A wind that wounds so tight it loses
itself and pales the people around it
I hear them choking, gasping
but I am helpless
Infantile behavior it seems 
Watching and staring as I drown
in myself
in my own strings
these freak strings, these strings of nothing.

Quotes II

"I don't know what I'm passionate about. I'm passionate about not doing anything."
-Stephanie Ng

"Alright, so for your homework assignment, I want you guys to draw a tool in your house."
"Can I draw my brother?"
-Art class exchange between Kalani and Justin

"You know, your leaves look like a marijuana bud."
"WHUT."
"Here I'll show you!"
"But I didn't refer to any plants to draw that! I just created it!"
"That's cause your spirit animal is a stoner hippie."

"Esther, we draw with our eyes and hands, not with our brains."

"In the next class you're gonna come in here all stoned. And I'm gonna go, 'Esther, have you finished your assignments?' And you're gonna be like, 'Yamon.' "

Practically 99% of the quotes above are from art class. 
I swear I want to kill this teacher of mine.

*Note: The ones containing "stoned" references involved a rather hungover(again) Kalani. Just sayin'. 

Monster

Just one of those days when your demons start to show themselves. 

When you just wished you didn't exist sometimes, to just be encased in stone to never feel, to never love, to be numb to every sense of emotion of the human mind. 

Just one of those days when you're screaming inside and it's echoing loudly in your ears but you're nothing but a poker face. 

When all you want to do is just see humanity burn, to see -you- burn, because what you've lost all understanding of physical pain. 

Just one of those days when my dark angel is flashing its talons and I let her cut me till she draws enough blood. 

And I don't even care. 

I am a monster. I am a freak. 
Perhaps it's time to embrace it instead of battling it. Why lose when you can grow stronger... somehow.

More Than That

"Can you paint like that?"

"Yes." 

When I see these rivers, rivulets running blue

I think of how they have run, where they've been through.

The Boy Who Tried to Kiss Me

Your eyes are soul-less
As piercing as they may be
In their amber light, a dangerous fire
I know I can see. 

Your voice rumbles deep, low, wanting
Like an earthquake below, I feel the tremor of disaster,
Just waiting, coming, and still I wonder
Why do I still remain here
Standing in my smiles and laughter,
Trying still to reach out to you, choosing to ignore
The one thing I was so naive about. 

You run like the movies, expecting a triumphant reply
You call out my name, like a romantic's excited sigh
I could feel your desire, encroaching, rising,
When you pulled me into the darkness; still I was questioning.
Again and again you try, your warmth wrapping me
In an artificial bubble, you're trying to make me see
I'm nearly trapped, I nearly fall, saved only by my sick thoughts of
How fake, how false, just a magic trick. 

I'm trying to think of another, another better reason...
Fool! Such I was, perhaps it was just the medicine.

Don't lean in like this, not on me
Don't hold me like you've known me for eternity
Don't put your arms around me like I belong to you
You know me not inside out, 
You make me cringe, oh you confusing fool! 

Don't tilt your head, don't bury it into mine
Don't try to lock on me using your magician's trick
I am no bunny, I am not to be used
Your desire, your actions, it's all just a ruse. 
There's no warmth in the way you hold me
No understanding in your heart when you speak to me
There's nothing but emptiness, driven by physical desire
In your eyes, I can see, whenever you look at me. 

The awkward turn, my body tense,
And still you held me in your arms.
Alarms bells are ringing, deep inside
Pulling me back immediately with a quick gasp.
(And if you wondered about the strange laughter, 
I was a girl ill; at that moment, flattery was but a shield.)

My skin crawls with goosebumps, whenever I recall
That faint memory, like it was ages ago. 
Five days, on an island, in a room full of fifty
One boy and his troubled heart, who tried to kiss me.

This poem is deeply personal, about a particular experience I had. I love how poetry allows me to express my feelings without being too open, and only allowing the certain vague details to show. I could be blunt, or vague, or metaphorical, and I could mix it all up if I wanted to. That is the beauty of poetry, there is just so much to it. 
But anyway, I debated actually putting this poem up on my public blog, because it might shock those who are close to me who may find it and read it. And even if it's someone who doesn't quite know me that well... well, it doesn't matter. The poem title is pretty much self-explanatory, however, the poem is pretty much something else in my intentions. 

If anyone wants to know more, you can just message me on Facebook or text or call or email. And please, I am not villain-izing the person I was talking about. He is in no way a bad person, and that much I will say.

God bless you all, and goodnight.

(I know I posted like, two posts today, but that's just I felt like it. Hah. More stupid conversation quotes to come!)

Quotes

"He's being seriously weird today. We should get him something. What's good for a hangover?"
"Like, fried, fatty food. The fat absorbs the alcohol."
"Does he even like fried food?"
"I don't know. He looks like he does. I'm sure he likes fried food cause..."
"... cause he's fat."
-Art class conversation with Christine and Kennedy

"Are you guys talking about me?"
"No."
"Yes. Uh, no."
"That's it! F's for all of you! Unless you're saying nice things, then A's! A's for all of you!"
-Art class with (a hungover)Kalani Largusa

"Do you guys have any questions?"
*silence*
"About the drawings?"
*silence*
"About life?"
*murmuring*
"I'm very knowledgeable. About a lot of things. Like, horticulture."
-Art class with (a highly-caffeinated)Kalani Largusa

"Attention: The gym will be closing in thirty minutes. I repeat, the gym will be closing in thirty minutes."
"David, when did you get here?"
"Oh, like a couple minutes ago."
-Gym conversation with David and Kiahna 

"David, how many kids do you want to have?"
"Zero. And two hamsters."
-Some random conversation with David 

Strength

"You don't have to be a picture of strength to know that you are strong." 
-God 


In my weakness, You are my strength. Yet, help me now, O Lord, for I am burdened, weary, and depressed. Sundays shouldn't be like this. 

Show me how to be strong in You, when times like these threaten to overcome me.

You, Second

What kind of faith does it take
Before I can find real joy
Will you bring a smile to my face?
One that is real, eclipsed upon my heart? 

Why does it haunt me now 
This fleshly sorrow
Why does it tear me apart
Inside, so much I have had to swallow

Can I live like the others?
Bound only to you? 
I seek to find passion for Your purpose
I can't do it with these tears.

I might find it soon
I might see it later
I might have to give it up
... that thought I cannot bear. 

In this I fail You daily
Because I have no strength
Because the love I seek
Is human first, and You second. 

Hear this pathetic cry
From a shattered body and soul
I have no courage to hand this 
Over to You. 

Eye of the Tiger

And He said,

"Have courage. Do not be afraid." 

And for the rest of the night, He gave me the peace and comfort and love that I needed. And the respite from the fear and the trouble. 

That is my testimony. I'm not someone who can take the lead, be in front of people while they watch me, and share what happened. But I can write. I am most expressive, most truthful, most honest and able when I write. Where words fail me in sound, I make it up in the silence in which the mind can drink in.

Last night, I was at the usual IV meeting. I was, as usual, a little late after running home from the gym. Somehow I was agitated. I had been agitated for a long time now, burdened with emotions I did not understand and a fear that was consuming me and making my chest hurt. I couldn't concentrate on what Jason was speaking at the front as he started his message and his lesson. I was heavily distracted. And I realized this wasn't working as long as I stayed in that room.

I felt I needed a little alone time. Just so I could speak in all honesty with God, if it meant relieving my soul of its heaviness. So I picked my way through several people(sorry guys, comin' thru) and went out into the food court where I sat in the deserted dining area and prayed in silence. I poured out everything-- and I mean everything. I must've rambled continually for a long time, almost out loud, till Cody came out to make a phone call and I had to murmur instead. It was a little awkward, as I was hoping nobody would disturb me, and I didn't want anyone from IV coming over and trying to pry open whatever the problem was despite them meaning well. But it didn't matter. I finished my prayer, and, finding nothing else to say to the Lord, I just sat there with my eyes staring into blackness and my mind empty and just... waiting. For anything.

There was a time when we were manning the IV table when Cody shared with me and Aunty B about how his pastor was teaching him prophetic prayer. He would pray over someone, and wait to receive an image from God, which he would attempt to interpret for that person. I certainly wasn't expecting an image to come to mind, although I did wonder if I would be sent one.

And guess what? Out of nowhere, an image of a tiger flashed through the darkness of my closed eyes.

At first, I was confused, as I always am. A tiger? What? Is it because I love cats?

And then came the words.
Brave. Courageous. 

Oh. 

But I don't know how to be, Lord. 

"Do not be afraid."

Isn't it amazing how God works sometimes?
And at that moment, the Lord took away my fear. He took away the heavy burden weighing down my soul, and carried it on His own back. He gave me the spirit of joy, of happiness and relief. And I felt as if He was telling me, "Now get back there to that room, child, and love others the way I love them." 

At that moment Cody was done with his phone call as I begin to get up. What I love about most guys is that they usually respect the privacy and wishes of a person, so when I told him that I was fine and that it was something I couldn't possibly share with, he readily understood. But I was really in a better place. Because I had consulted the best person ever that I could've talked to. Everyone has their own way in asking for help, and mine is usually to pray in solitude. I am not the sort that would go to others to ask for prayer, despite this being just as powerful. 

So as I went back to the room, I could feel my spirit lifted. I could concentrate. I felt at peace. I was in comfort. The stark agitated patterns in my head were gone. And during fellowship, I was able to talk with others-- minus my usual sugar-high countenance. I was given discernment as I conversed with another person. It was as if I barely recognized myself; yet, I remained the same person throughout the night. My humor had no changed, but my thoughts and speaking skills did. It could all only have been God. 

Little things like these have to start to be believed, by me, at least. If I want and crave for the change that I desire, to be filled with passion for God and to truly be able to hear His voice and discernment, I must learn to believe the little things. Believe. Such a simple word, such a difficult action. 

Praise the Lord! 

Just A Little Bit

Just a little bit brokenhearted
Just a little bit sad
Just a little disheartened
This fear is driving me mad. 

Just a little bit hopeful
My mind for what it craves
Just a little regretful
At what I've thrown away.

Mamela

Night
And the spirit of life
Calling
Mamela

And a voice
With the fear of a child
Asking
Mamela

Wait
There's no mountain too great
Hear these words and have faith
Oh have faith

He lives in you
He lives in me
He's watching over
Everything we see
In every creature
In every star
In your reflection...
He lives in you.

The Lion King Musical was one of the best experiences ever; and my first time watching a live theater musical act. While there were many captivating songs and scenes and outstanding performances, one particular song and scene stood out to me: Mufasa singing "They Live in You" to Simba.

Yes, this particular scene. Obviously this isn't from my personal photo archive and I grabbed it off the internet, along with the other photo above, but I just wanted to give a picture as to how that scene was like.

Let me tell you how that song and scene affected me beyond expectation.

There was something about the song that gave me chills, and the thugging of my heartstrings at the tender father-son relationship that displayed the immense love Mufasa and Simba had for each other. But what stood out to me more than anything was the song.

"They Live in You"/"He Lives in You".

The song is obviously one that speaks about the legendary kings of the past, of how they lived in each Lion King and continued to guide them from the stars above. I didn't see it that way. In fact, I saw it as... as a worship song. It has been two days since I watched The Lion King Musical, and I am practically obsessed with the song. It has stuck in my head like a radical idea that refuses to go away, but instead of singing it only because I loved it(it -is- an amazing song, ever so beautiful), I thought for a moment... why not sing it as if singing it to worship my Lord? 

The verses and words in there describes Jesus in near perfection. All I had to do was tweak a few words... 
(No offense to the original songwriters; but this song has inspired me for God!)

This is my worship version of "He Lives in You". A song I continually sing to myself the past couple of days.

Night
And the spirit of Light
Calling... 
Mamela 

And a voice
In the soft singing wind
Asking
Mamela

Wait
There's no mountain too great
Hear these words and have faith
Oh, have faith

He lives in you
He lives in me
He's watching over
Everything we see
He created every creature
And burst the stars
He's your reflection...
Cause He lives in you.

"Mamela" means "listen". How many times have we been urged to just be still, and listen for the Lord's quiet, soft voice in our souls? Does not our Lord constantly knock on the door of our hearts, calling out to us, waiting patiently, for us to finally look at Him and answer? Does not the Holy Spirit silently guide us daily, as long as we have faith as small as a mustard seed in Him? 

Does not our Lord live in us? 

So, to whoever wrote that original song(I think it's Tim Rice), thank you. Thank you for a truly beautiful song that I can lift up as worship to God. Isn't it amazing how the gifts God grants to humans can touch others in ways so very unexpected? Even if it was never meant to be for the Lord in the first place. 

I went to that musical only out of wanting to be entertained and I came away with so much more than that. That musical will now be an exceptional memory for me because of that beautiful scene and haunting song that will always remind me of my God. Of how I a simple story originating from a classic cartoon can in turn send me seeking for Jesus.

Isn't it strange the things that God does to get your attention? He certainly works in strange ways!

The Definition of Love

I have now come to realize that I am slowly dreading every Monday, Wednesday and Friday which is to come for the rest of the semester. Not so that I have a 7am wake up call just to make it in time for an 8.30am class, or that I have four classes on those days itself, but also because the first class is always... so boring. 

It's called Creative Writing with emphasis on Short Stories, and isn't particularly difficult. Okay, I take that back, it's pretty easy when all you do is read short stories, discuss them in class, post some reactions online to a prompt question and eventually write out drafts for two or three short stories. No problemo. 

Except the discussion part, O goodness, it's all we do for an hour. Sit there and discuss about one story. It's not that I don't like dissecting these short stories and pulling them apart to inspect every single element in its body and making hypotheses and inferences based on my own interpretations, but my brain refuses to function so early in the morning despite me pumping it with breakfast energy. Second week of school, and I have yet to contribute to a single discussion because my head is too busy trying to stay awake while feeding me vague ideas and shallow observations of the story which was on the plate. 

Since when did I suddenly become so scientific in my metaphors? 

Must be all that science of biology and chemistry and physics coming back to haunt me. 

Anyway. Now that I'm done with my usual funky off-topic introduction rant. 

Today we had another discussion in class, all the while in which my head was drooping second only to my eyelids. We were talking about Anton Chekov's "The Lady with the Lapdog", which, to be honest, didn't interest me very much. It was set in Russia during Chekov's time, I suppose, which was a long time ago. Long enough for this story to now be available free for all on the internet without having to fear royalties and copyright battles. 

The story talks about a man who is a serial adulterer, whom, despite being married with three kids, is unsatisfied with his arranged marriage and sleeps around while openly admitting that women were the "lower class". Talk about feminist rage, one of my female classmates(who takes things VERY seriously) balked in sheer anger at the character, as if he was real. This male character meets an innocent-looking young newcomer in town, a woman who walks around with a white Pomeranian and sets her as his next target. As the story goes, it is implied that they fall in love, but cannot be together as they are married to other people. The man undergoes significant changes in his character, due to this young woman who, despite the affair, thrashes herself about for her "sins" and for her vice and unfaithfulness. 

I won't go on too much about it, but you get the point of the plot. Eventually, the discussion turned to the "meaning of love". My professor wondered aloud "what is the meaning of love? Love is so conventional, yet I have never read anything that truly defines it. What is love?" 

Obviously, there came the round of different opinions from my classmates, but for the first time his question made me perk up. Brain juices suddenly got restored or something. 

"What is love?" 

My professor is a published writer and novelist; he must have read a ton of literature. And yet, he doesn't even know the simple definition which comes from the mouth of the One God:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

1 Corinthians 13: 4-7

Okay, yes, so maybe we're just focusing on literature here. Definitions of different kinds of love in the voices of several men and women. But that verse just... triumphs it all. It embraces every kind of love each human being is capable of. Why? Because God Himself is love, God Himself loves, and God Himself gave man the right to love as He does. In fact, he commands that we do so. 

This, however, was what was running through my mind while my classmates were giving opinions on something "spiritual, uplifting, etc.". No disrespect to one of them who said that, he knows not what he says, at least. Or, he probably doesn't know who God is. 

What is love?

Love is God sending His only begotten Son down to earth, in a world plagued by sin, to suffer and die for us, to shed His blood and be the perfect sacrifice so that all mankind could have a clear path to Heaven. Love is Jesus willingly trapped in the body of a fleshly human, subjected to the blackness and darkness of this world for many years, only to be killed for us. Love is Jesus willingly subjecting to immense torture and pain, a slow death, a crown of thorns and nails in his limbs, to be crucified for our souls. Love is God willing to give up so much... just for us puny humans. Love is the Lord's huge patience and capacity to forgive and still bail us out of our troubles for the million times we screw up. Love is God comforting us in our sorrow, love is God protecting and guiding us each passing day with His invisible presence. Love is God reminding us how much He still loves us despite the wrongs we committed in our past. Love is God promising that He won't leave us even in our broken faith. Love is God promising to still love us and save our souls with second, third, fourth, a hundred chances despite the future wrongs we will commit... as long as we believe in Him.

God is love. And His love never fails. 

That is what my definition of love is. 

In my opinion, I am the weakest person of faith. I struggle and struggle each passing day between the sorrows of my depression, my negative thoughts, my empty feelings and self-pity. I struggle with my feelings of jealousy and attention-seeking, my selfishness and bitterness. I struggle between temptation of the world and the Word of God. I struggle to heal my soul, to be a better person, to bless others for God. I struggle to give myself fully to Him, because I am selfish and I do not fully trust Him. 

In my opinion, I am a broken soul. I see nothing good in me in which I can bless others with. 

Yet it is these small moments when the Holy Spirit brings such quiet joy and comfort to me. God's reminder that He still loves me even though I can't even love myself. That sometimes it's okay to be weak and tired, and feel useless and stupid, if only I would go to Him and let Him comfort me. 

I am trying Lord. I am trying. 

Forgive me once more for all that I have done. 

And thank you for Your love. Your faithful, perfect love which nothing on earth can ever rival with. Show me how to love like You have loved me, thank you for the amazing grace in which you bestow on us.

The Midnight Run

Got soaked, shoes wet
Still the most fun I've ever had. 

It's true, indeed, you really have got to appreciate the little things in life.
Such as the joy of the unexpected and the dash of poetic expression.

Ode to Poetry

What is it about the imagery

That warms me like no other

What is it about the words
That flow without a stutter?

What is it about the melody

A soothing mockingbird's song

A cheerful cry, a bitter sob

A cold sad sigh, a soulful throb

King of the senses

Queen of emotions

Throne of romances

Asylum for the heartbroken

To feel his touch, that silky soft skin

His warm embrace, all warm and lean

His Majesty's voice is like a deep rooted echo

Bewitching and stunning, he is a sight to behold. 

The  happy flock to celebrate with her,

The cold and hard cannot withstand her gleam

She brings them to tears, heavenly are her words,

She caresses the heartstrings of the depressed and injured. 

Your Royal Highness, how you make us laugh! 

Watch out, O men, for she too can be sharp...

Men are entranced, however, by the beauty of the sedan

Upon which the royalty grace with pride imbued

It whispers sweet songs, of true love and beyond

Of couples and kisses, and oh--! How rude!  

Along comes the Prince, skipping with a cheeky grin

He teases and pleases, chess games in mind

The Prince claps his hands; his power unknown

The courtiers turn beetroot red, their covers exposed.

The weeping now enter, begging for a place,

For some food, for some drink, for a fireplace

To heal from the frostbite of the Winter War

Bleeding hearts, stabbed souls and broken love galore. 

They cast a dark look upon the beautiful sedan, 

Clothed in all its glory, and promises abundant

They scream at it to be silent, branding it a whore 

Refusing to see truth, until they hurt no more.

What a portrait, what a beauty

Is this family of Royalty.

What is it about their melody,

That sings and soothes and feels,

What is this, their hidden royalty,

Oh, the power that it wields!

A Prayer in Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

-Robert Frost. 

For the first and not the last time, Robert Frost will always be one of my favorite poets. I am utterly in love with every word of his.
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