where the kingdom is
*sorry for the terrible formatting. tumblr made me do it.
the problem is this:
most of my days are spent distracted
my mind is a snowglobe
and like the sea i keep choking on salty waves
most of my life is for me,
i don’t know how to stop buying when my closet is full and stop eating when my appetite is gone.
i don’t know how to only put my hands to what is good; all the plows i’m holding seem to be wrong.
i don’t know how to let enough be enough in a world with arms that keep offering me more.
my addiction for too much of everything leaves me confused at best,
and i want to cry when i think about how much my life looks like the american dream
tears of grief and lament should come because on the best days i love this world too much
sometimes i’m weak and drink too much whiskey and kiss not only the prince of peace
i pour acid on my hopes and look at what is broken until “cynic” becomes my name
arrested, arrested, arrested development is what this is
i am a digital native
i am a creature of habit
with fur like fear and skin like comfort
and i wouldn’t know what to wish for even if you asked
because i’ve spent too many hours gorged on junk food illusions and modern-day freakshows
i’m a coward deep in my bones if you want to know the truth,
i let the darkness collect like mold in my mouth
i grind my teeth and claw an angry claw at the threat of hard work
at the threat of losing myself for a world that i can’t always see
and so i oil the machine of every injustice and wrap my conscience in plastic that won’t break-
i turn and turn and turn my heart on what will never be real
on lovers who aren’t wild, who aren’t even that good
and so when we talk about the kingdom of heaven i get so confused,
can i buy it?
can i build it?
can i consume it?
i ask every question that doesn’t seem to matter.
i do it until the voice comes and tells me i’m more than animated mud,
the One who loves me more than the things that make me numb tells me who i am and what i am for.
we are a narrative species and the sentences of god are stronger than all the collective lies.
they say that the kingdom being built is a place for pioneers that are equally strong
a people who see that the Creator is perfect and holy
and so maybe, just maybe, through the blood we keep talking about
the creation is now perfect and holy
and not to be hated
the kingdom is a place where we put down our stones and refuse to throw them at ourselves any longer
we work not by own two hands
not for our own secret cause
it’s a kingdom of flags spread out in a war-torn sand
where days are spent ripping out tattered hearts and giving them back to the king
it’s a room full of people who shake their heads “no” to impossibility
and believe it or not, the kingdom is a space for the ones still holding their weapons and drugs and enemies by the throat
it’s for the phonies and actors who have never seen a stage
the ones who like the taste of jealousy and are fluent in heresy
so to say, it’s for you and even for me, with all of our flaws, and our wounds, and our infected stitches.
because the truth is this:
there is a map of miracles written in our bodies waiting to get out,
an imagination so dense we try a million times a day in a million different ways to kill it.
we are saints and mystics, the world’s only royalty that impetuously deny the crown
and though we might move slow like cars with no engines and feel like we barely move at all
we’re inching and groaning and getting stronger;
yes, everyday we’re getting stronger
so loose your hands from the muck that you hold and rinse yourself clean in the well of your brother
and grab all the colors that paint this city the color of the kingdom.
put neon strings down the alleys with no hope, ultraviolet beams in the crevices about to break
open, open, open your eyes and see that the kingdom is in your lungs and in your sister and in your brother and in this room.
