Stop. Breathe. Remember God's Simplicity...

I believe in God, because He believes in me, and in the homeless migrating out on the streets.  He believes in the kleptos in near shops that steal, and the atheists who swear to God He's not real.  He believes in love despite animosities, and in those who have labyrinths of anxieties. He believes in the lost minds who rarely adhere to the fact that Heaven is in no way like here. While his children remain steadily on the ground God believes in the O' so very praiseworthy sound of followers crying for Lord's simplicity. And that through all our trials of complicity, we shout (hands high) , "I believe Lord. The king of kings!" Just think of the unending blessings He'd bring!

I'm not good at feeling If it's needed to be shared. I can't bring someone close, without being scared. I can't quite shape it. It started since birth. It's like my heart's with God's people, but is fresh-out of self-worth. My heart belongs to the world,  because I believe in their fate, but I set up self-standards and tend to self-hate. Not an "image" self-hatred or where I am from, but a portrait self-image of who I've become. and it's easy to love and it's easy to say that you shouldn't judge this or act out in this way and it's easy to guide and not so easy to follow and it's not easy to fill your soul when it's hallow. I don't like sharing how I feel. Or who I've become, it's an attention unwanted, that makes me feel dumb. and the dumbness is numb. and the numb is the sum of the amount of good feeling that will never come.

If something makes you happy, don't be a stranger to it. Don't push it into a corner where you forget his face, or insult him by naming him "stupid" or "a hobby". It is worth so much more than that. Happiness keeps freedom in a safety deposit box,on a high shelf. When you acknowledge him, he feels inclined to share with you. Happiness can resuscitate the heart beat back into your life. If something makes you happy, don't be a stranger to it. Don't declare war on an empty battlefield where there is no purpose, Taking up arms when the opposing team refuses to fight. It doesn't care who is wrong or right, because it is worth so much more than that.

Trust does not come to me willingly. I don't welcome him with a warm embrace. That part of me was not assembled properly. It doesn't compute. Vulnerability: hand in hand with devistation and pure heartache. It's almost inevitable. I feel lower than pond scum, because I treat God like man, believing that there is nothing he can do to fix this, or me. Not believing that he can make life better, because as of now, it's a million spinning plates, and despite how fast I spin one, another one begins to topple. They can't all go at once, and since I can't do it, God must not be able to either. I can't ask for help and trust that it's okay, because that's weakness, and is frowned upon (usually(sometimes(depending(it shouldn't be)))). At church, we sat on stage (The message was spoken from the center of the room). A new perspective. Like our new series, I felt the service done in my heart was new. I could see the entire church ...

Bohemian poets view the world in colors uncommonly used scripting pastimes with symbols and  phrases, bounded and shared with the masses, canvassed as let-downs, thoughts, memories, inspirational memos. To convey they are not alone (neither are you). Free thinkers and believers optimists and under-achievers.   Yes, beige paint can smooth out the words, but by dawn a new story is inevitably born.