nathanael.ink

It is not his virginity
Or your extra love sleeping
Not his commitment
Or your ‘caged bird song’
And it truly is not
The swift unconscious theft
Which stole each of our breaths

But that you were an Indian giver
At the end of it
And by contract you
Made him one too

I cannot gain repentance
not the will or goal
not the ability or grace

‘…effectith much’ well, shame to say I don’t see
how one can be righteous to extents
beyond Blood rights inherit

perceived things considered
there is not conscience without lunatic
unprogressive patterns
ten thousand times repeat the whole, in scale, of
being left out and head under removeable emotions
tárry a long while inside
for the plate to heat and houseshells to dismiss your taste

…hermit claim the lower self
tárr’ the way you sit to change
tárr’ the how you tip off your conscience
move like a wildebeest
move like the wind is feet always
racing you across the world in separate a platform
you in landmarks graded unequal(so really why bother)
he in trees and leaves to toss, sand to splash up, ebbs to carry and ride along,
heat to find with unconsideration, all this to say
we both are here in love unequal but

serving Unknowably intimate atmospherical love honey

today is not. it is unlike significant days
I will sleep it through…

or in spreadsheets no rhythm
to sift through unmanaged thought
the thoughts of course are of

well, of course of the sun
when it slips out
slow through the sheets
to unpress itself from legal arms
well no doubt you know
the light thereof
even on the tops of eyelids

it can hardly go unknown, yet creeps
back out window blinds very unlike
car doors to stranger’s eyes
to lay without window frames or houses tall to hold them
bright luminous chimes
trained to free, trained to uncontroll him…

find your lovely. take him like a novelty.
there is love to be found. but not in me. there is a hope in extraordinary. but not here.
find hope if Christ, in love or in cheap romance like sex or redemption.
there is love and I have felt it
there is love but not here. I was right in those days
when I believed you were sore to feel for me
I pitied you who pity me.

for I could never sing you a song. I could never take you on that walk you always wanted
the one where the moon is right and the stars speak for us on the grassy canvas place.

we could make lists and catalog all that you will not have, and if you dared you could let it mean that I could at least know what you want, even I could know what you’d lack, but this is not that case you see
I took all the answers from a shadowy text book places outside of time and without an ending
with this as the case my brain could not contain it, for there is no space for any unending
which makes it well for us
but sore with you

everyday a new conclusion. a new reflection on the time passed.
I wanted start this off by talking of improvements and betterments and time spent encouraging and practicing righteousness and the changes in me. but, nothing is complete, and I may never be, so I may never feel it fair to acknowledge change at all. anything less, is everything less. like
what if I am the same. completely the same. could I handle that? could I handle that I’ve done nothing? is that fair to say, I want to correct myself and say something like “that God has done nothing” but that simply isn’t true, so I can’t correct myself that way, cuz it wouldn’t be correct. I just. I. don’t know how to feel about how I feel about this, or even what I feel “this” is. kinda even more frustrating.

just, that I don’t know if it’s fair to feel progress. for some reason
is all

I don’t know if I believe in You. what I call You. what I named You. are You who I am referring to?
Jesus, messiah, the Christ. what I talk, is it to You? Could I be directing my thoughts more clearly. is there someone else I could be talking to? is this You? is this You in everything? is that me putting You everywhere?
I don’t know if You think this is easy, or getting easier.. tell me I’m gonna die at 34 with a reason, I might be able to do a lot more than I am now. I might have a drive. I might have a purpose. but here, all I want is success, and I want it from any branch I can find.
How could I seek first the kingdom?- can’t You see I’m busy trying to build this damn home?! You gave me the godforsaken land to live in, and I’m here trying to do something with it! .. God.. what does it mean, to seek first the kingdom? that doesn’t feel applicable?
I just want to leave into a video game. a place with a purpose. objectives and rewards. and simple system of goals, and the clear option of failure. inevitable death.
well seems to me that the wages of sin is death, but we all still are dying, because You said we would. it’s somewhere in some covenant isn’t it? some clearly stated plan; a promise. Your word.
how can I say I’m free, if I still feel death? I still see those who believe, they taste death.
but I justify, that it is because of sin that death enters the scene. but. is there no freedom from it? .. I suppose it’s because of the fruits of sin to our physical body, so thereby our physical body will die, while our spirit, free from death, will enter His gates..

dear God renew in me a right spirit.. my eyes are dry, my heart is hard, my prayers are cold..

I want to depict you in every way I could ever think
lo, written words between us have become a byword. a mockery. a cause for dispute. evidence of injustice.
I want to write you out a hundred million thousand ways.
give me the time.. give me ever after

to phrase it. to pronounce the words like your name
to say words with the hight of your beginning Ee
let me finish them all with the solidity of your outright and unruly Dd
yes even in what is near meaningless to your person, in what encases none of your person, only the affiliation to your face it has gained, and is thereby worth a note, here and there, so admonish.

I hardly know you anymore. so this too has me scrapping.

how long will this youth last? do old men ever sit in their chairs with such youth in their hearts? such junior high in their hearts? such an unadulterated, unshakably unreasonable feeling(at best) for some image of a woman they knew times ago, but now only pray they survived, and survived well.
Do they keep telling themselves, on their porch swing under cracked untreated porch roof wood, saying “I could light the sky in letters, I could write ‘love’ in the city lights, I could spend all my money to do it, and she would see then that I would spend so much money on her, and she’d equivocate it to her immediate value, and feel valuable thereby, and know I value her most of all”

faint heart never won fair lady.

it’s been quite a time.
it is strange to come home to this apartment. for it to be home.
home has always been the place in which I return to find social creatures being lazy and scarcely social at all, but there none the less. to say with their presence “I am here. and so are you. and it is good”
here, I find myself instantly faced with all the conflicts of a day. of the mind. of tomorrow and the weeks to come. of finances and mobility. health even, and wondering what food to eat. while it used to be just waiting for any sort of food to be ready.
called to the table.
sat up in a chair. prayer. consume. and wait out the rest of the day.

adulthood is in fact terribly frightening.
I remember God. here in moments like this.
I am glad to know He is all that He is. Here. He has come home with me today, from there, now here. and He is excited for the silence we will be able to share here alone with one another. He loves to smile at the things I do half-asleep, and the thoughts I think half-awake.. He loves that I still struggle with the simplest of things, and He is eager to show me simple better ways.
it’s been a long day.
and here, He waits for me.
and I mustn’t keep Him waiting. 🙂

pardon me, but Christ
was it not You who took it out, and set it all in motion. how then, after having justified Your absence.. Christ.. what is it I’ve done?
do I excuse myself of believing You are absent, by restating it as You are already all things superfluous. seamless, a constant string of what is. and thereby justifying no change.
Christ, my God… is this why I terry? Why I burrow in so deep, inside misery, the inward of misfortune..
I terry, and I say You terry.. I fail. but I could not justify myself, and I could not believe grace fully. so I found a way to excuse You for what You had not done, but what I could blame You for…….. God my God!. Christ. ..oooooooooaaaaah…
it is just the night that works against me? is it the door I left open? my windows that have let so much… Christ. I have already reasoned that if any good comes, it will not be by my hand. but then by whose hands will it be?
dear God I could give You credit for all things already… how then could I pray for a miracle, a change, a flow against Your hand?
don’t get me started in “He set it up that you should pray and see Him answer and then it would be such-and-such a way” .. I cannot be in this equation… I cannot. I am flawed. I am unusable. I am unable. I am. contingent upon my feels, my mood, even perception! how God can I be what cannot even perceive! yet-alone conceive!!.. good gracious.. good .. good gracious goodnight

so what if I never have the song.
I’ll keep using everyone else’s words, for everything I aim to say.
.. I find it ill to want so bad to be in love. at least. the sort of ‘love’ I’ve been seeking.