Office

When I think of publishing my words in a book

something in me freezes. It feels

wrong,

wrong,

wrong. How can I

make you pay for my thoughts?

Penny for your thoughts. No,

I give them free

so if you vomit them back up

you won’t blame me for it.

But if I ever published a book,

both eyes closed,

cheeks burning,

and if you ever got one from me,

I hope that

simple as my words are

they would touch something in you.

That you would scrawl in the margins

your own words and memories

(‘cause isn’t that what paper is for?)

and remember those, instead.

And I hope that God would use

the detritus of my head

for His glory,

to come closer to

touch you with His finger

and whisper His love.

I know

He can.

Like. 

Celebrate. 

Support. 

Love. 

Insightful. 

Funny. 

6 words that we use 

to dredge a bit of our lives, 

a part that we poured ourselves into, 

and a part that we let others see, 

up to the top of the lake. 

With a click, 

it surfaces, glistening, 

a pale diamond in the sun. 

Professional. Honed. Clear-cut. 

I remember when LinkedIn added 

"Funny" to their reaction list. 

It is radical, they said, 

(or I think they said -- 

the algorithm only 

dredged it up once) 

to realize that work can be funny too. 

But what is work, if not 

one facet in the maze that is our lives -- 

in all its joy, 

in all its pain, 

and yes, 

in all its laughter, too. 

So often we rub 

the faces of our work together, 

honing its shine, 

shining its surface,

while keeping the underneath opaque.

Perhaps, if we could 

crack the surface 

just a little bit, 

the laughter would intertwine 

with the tears and the pain 

and encircle us, 

a cacophony of sound, 

a symphony in counterpoint, 

light dancing in the waves.

breathless

spinning

the vertigo

screeches.

i slam my palms

against the table

and feel

the cool metal against my fingertips,

the air kissing my nostrils,

the vertigo

tipping me over

and

pouring me out.

in that moment

with my stomach clenched

and patterns 

swirling under my eyelids,

my thoughts are flattened

on the walls of my skull,

and my mental axis stops gyrating

to let the physical one take over.