Parachute Prayer

We all have them.  The dreams that make you question if we just might be sleeping while our eyes are open and enter reality when our lids slide shut.  They leave an imprint on the clay of the mind and seem to materialize into an escaping shadow that lurks throughout the following day.

We were on a plane, my little brother and I.  We are separated by few years and tied by a shared rebellious soul.  The destination seemed unknown and the passengers around us in discomfort and worry.  Their brows furrowed and minds reeled for answers as they waited for reassurance from our captain.  My brother and I sat in a strange sense of peace only in the company of each other and one stranger sharing our row.  A tall mysterious man who returned our half smile.  We were poised; prepared.  But for what?  

The captain offered little hope over the speakers with a shaky yet apathetic tone and soon the drop of free fall swarmed our stomachs.  It was clear there would be no turbulence to blame.  I took my brothers hand as the floor opened beneath us.  We were going down.  My eyes closed as my lips released the beginning of my last attempt for rescue, "Dear Heavenly Father..."  My brother followed my lead and joined.  A prayer of forgiveness and hope found rhythm in the chopping wind surrounding us and a slow freedom filled our lungs.  

That's when it hit.  Not the awaiting ground but a hand on my wrist.  "Take hold!" were the instructions of the mysterious man we had seen next to us on the plane.  A rope dangled between us and dear life gripped it in our hands.  The fall began to slow as we looked up to find the welcomed shelter of fabric spread above us.  Light beamed through the heroic sheath as a humble piece of land became visible.  I looked to my little brother in disbelief; we were saved.  He gave me the same bright grin I have cherished since the birth of our memory together and simply said, "Amen."

My eyes parted abruptly to find that the dream was gone and only my room remained.  I pulled my pillow close and thanked God for the experience.  Though the small journey began as a nightmare, a city currently separates me from my little brother. Any visit is welcomed even if it has to be in slumber. I knew I had been given one of the best moments a sibling could ask for: the simple assurance that we just might make it out alive after all.

. . .

Thieves of the Night.

The night has become too loud again.  Shadows of familiar faces are brushing the walls and they look too close to your own.  They wait until the time is right to slide in next to you.  They know eventually the body will tire, flagging surrender.  Quickly they sew past dreams into present slumber.  They will begin with the beautiful kind, ones that resemble the closest you know of God's gifts.  Their favorite background seems to where home was last felt.  The dirt moves beneath your bare feet and all is right again.  You are where He gathered the matter that makes up your bones.  The wind is warm and your breathing at peace, all that surrounds you is love.  A birthright love.  You sense company and it is those you crave.  Every one of them believes you are here and for good reason.  

They congratulate and kiss you.  But why?  Asking would be ridiculous.  They look to you as if you should know the reason very well.  So accept it; basque.  You walk through and thank them, return the light in their eyes.  The line of them becomes scarce and you can see an end.  It's coming whether you move forward or not.  

Fear floods the veins and you look to see that your loved ones have vanished.  So you run.  The cold stings making your body unable to cooperate with your mind.  That's when they show.  The doubtful, the slick: the thieves of night.  They hold up their medals proudly. Trophies of innocence and hope surround you. The hands that grasp them are of the few that were able to make you feel disposable at some point in life.  The makers of your fears.  Your guard is down and that's how they prefer it.  They are coming for you.  

Seige them.

You wrestle the courage to stagger a few steps.  They gather to yell and the words hit like blades on skin.  Each cut releases strength and you surprise yourself by continuing.  You struggle as the worry sets in for how long you can take it.  The closer you get, the more your sure to bleed.  

Most nights the dark surrounds too tightly and their voices mute your own. Jolted, your eyes face the ceiling.  For now it's over.  The breaths are quick and tears swell as you pray for comfort.  Guilt begins to set in for letting them win another one for the shelf.  You lay there plotting for revenge but find no peace in it.  The only escape is to remember the few nights where you took the victory.  The night you pushed through and shielded their mouths and knives.  Their strength soon became your own as your feet pounded into the ground.  The sprint became so vigorous that your feet could no longer touch the ground.  You looked to see that it was not because you had fallen, you simply took flight.

Love, Rants & Raves

1.  Don't be so mean to Monday.  Someone's gotta have the balls to start the week.  You sure don't see Friday taking one for the team.  So what if everyone awaits his arrival and he gives you the last happy hour before your full priced weekend and people thank God for him on a weekly basis and he justifies blasting *NSYNC's 'Just Got Paid' and smells like sweet sweet freedom. . .

Damn. I'd marry the shit outta Friday.

2.  Go to the dentist!  I repeat: get your stankstank brefff in that squeaky plastic deathtrap of a chair and soon!  An every 6 months cleaning will do wonders for your social life.  Yeah, it's uncomfortable but it's not going to kill you.  And I know I called it a deathtrap earlier but I was only exaggerating for effect. Don't be so literal.  Pansy.

3.  When writing your next grocery list go ahead and add a couple things you may not like but majority of the population does.  It's polite and the right thing to do.  I don't give a ball sack if you think mustard is the devil.  If you have me over for burgers and dogs from the grill and I open your fridge door to some damn Miracle Whip I will Ex-lax your next spritzer in a hot second. 

4.  Next time one of your dramatic I-only-accepted-you-because-well-actually-I'm-not-sure friends posts only a ':(' as their facebook status just go ahead and like it. Even better, comment on it with "Colon-parentheses is an incomplete sentence, silly pants."  That way they will have to admit they're sad which is what they really mean.  Take it a step further after that and ask why they are sad which will be hilarious because isn't it obvious that they don't want to talk about it on facebook?

5.  A little gossip goes along way so be careful.  My theory?  Don't say anything you don't expect to be heard.  So don't talk crap or I'll be forced to tell everyone that your breath stinks because you're afraid of the dentist.  Isn't being a girl fun??

6.  Let me translate something for you real quick.  When a guy says,"Wow. Your boobs have gotten bigger!"  He means: Wow. Your boobs have gotten bigger.  Now when a girl says,"Wow. Your boobs have gotten bigger!"  She means: Haha bitch you've gained at least 10 pounds.

7.  Ombre hair, ombre fingers, ombre toes, ombre clothes... Ombrace a new trend.

Thanks for stopping by!

colon-parentheses (the happy kind of course)

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Love, Rants & Raves: Summer Edition

1. Summer has arrived.  All girls with cute feet and newly graduated Jenny Craig's rejoice.  All gals with more to love and pterodactyl toes.. well.. get creative.  October weather and closed toe shoes are only 5 months away.  Yikes.

2.  Ladies, ladies, ladies.  Your bikini is way cute and I totally agree that trendy neon shades look fab on you! BUT your bathroom mirror look-at-me-i-didn't-eat-lunch-must-post-to-facebook-pic allowance is one before you can't blame the world for judging.  So choose wisely.  After that make some girlfriends hop in the pic with you or at least set your timer outside and pretend someone else thought you looked so good they couldn't resist the shot.  Your secret is safe with me.

3.  We get it.  It is hot as blazing balls outside.  That doesn't make it okay for you to post a shot of your car's thermometer and expect it to be interesting.  I'm checking facebook while driving for crying out loud and I really don't appreciate you making me risk my life with a picture I've been trying to ignore all day.  If you want to express how hot is in an entertaining way then post a picture of your sweat-stache.  Hilarious.  

4.  If you spray tan please do yourself a favor and spend the extra four dollars and seven cents to buy the disposable flip-flops.  Otherwise it looks like a cluster of unfortunate birthmarks are covering your feet. . might be a deal breaker for the doucher who previously offered you free vodka in his cabana.  

5.  With the heat comes highlights which really can look great and even brighten your whole summer.  However, box bleaching the living hell out of your already thirsty strands will not gain you more fun or a boyfriend no matter what Cosmo says.  Blondes may have more fun but bleached out frizz-balls get made fun of.. and bald prematurely.  If that's your idea of good time then more power to you.  Frost and Glow away.

6.  Don't tell your friend who has obviously lost the battle with carbs that one piece swimsuits are really in style and you yourself have even been contemplating trading in your teeny-weeny bikini for one.  It's a nice way of being rude and that's the worst kind.  You wore petal pasties and a thong made of glitter to the lake last Summer.  No one believes you.

Sunshine & Good Times to You,

Love, Rants & Raves

1.  Secrets don't make friends. . Unless you aren't around friends who can't know the secret.  Then they make great friends.

2. So what if your fellow employee (who you have helped out a time too many) is going to give you the cold shoulder for not switching them a solid shift. You work hard.  Keep your Friday night.  I promise they will be able to reschedule their dog's acupuncture appointment.

3.  Blow on  your hot liquids/foods before devouring them!  I know you're starving and tired but, hopefully, whatever you are consuming is not going to grow legs and run away from you if you let it sit for two minutes.  A burnt tongue is the 187th worst thing that can happen to you in the world! ..according to a study created and performed by me. 

4.  If it's past noon and you are still in bed and you don't have a hang over... Well, then you need a serious to-do list.  Or a therapist.  Either way, just get out of bed.

5.  Returning to an X after you break up with someone or are broken up with is kind of a deep burn.  If you are the breaker-upper who returned to your X then you should fully expect and be okay with just one swift kick to the balls or punch in the boob.  But if you are the X they returned to then you have unlimited permission to yell out variations of 'Burn!' like an 11-year-old the first few times you see the former X.  You only have a couple of times you're allowed to do this without looking insecure so get creative and be discreet.  A blackened eggo waffle on their doorstep should do the trick.  Make it the cinnamon kind so you seem sweet.

6.  If you don't eat meat, smoke or drink alcohol let me just say congratulations and more power to you.  But if you remind me that you don't one more time, I am going to find a way to sneak a pig's foot, second hand smoke (the worst kind, gasp!) and a shot of bourbon into your vegan brownie.  So back off and let me slowly deteriorate my body in peace.

7.  I know she sucks and you wish she'd move to Zimbabwe and live in a hut with no communication to the modern world BUT she's not going to.  In fact, she's probably going to stick around forever so deal.  Don't be a sourpuss in the corner when she shows up and more importantly don't become obviously obnoxious.  If you don't typically have a "knee slapper" kind of laugh when she's not around then don't develop one when she enters the room to prove how much fun you're having.  No one is going to believe you are having the time of your life at Applebee's.  It's not even happy hour and you're paying full price for boxed wine.  Pull yourself together.

8.  And I swear if you request 'Red Solo Cup' in my jukebox one more time. . . 

Blush the Enemy

They say you wear your heart on your sleeve, well baby, I keep yours in the pocket of my jeans

I can rinse you out of my hair and even scrub you from my skin

But you seem to show up every time I'm prepared to let someone else in

They say the right things and even root for my favorite teams 

But still I feel like a traitor resting on their worn blue seams

They say we're wrong and I start to believe they're right 

Then why does my stomach sink at the thought of flight

I sit in the corner breathless and at times welcome our death

But how can there be much of a life beyond this

I'd like to measure that faint line that claims to separate love and ha-- No, I won't say it, I refuse 

Refuse to believe that loath can be weaved even from the smallest cloth of love that has passed, or worse, crashed

So I continue to mend and glue the tears in this blanket we make love beneath

Wincing when the light of truth creeps in between the sheets

Hold me, hold me how can you resist when my wounds seep through clenched fists

That life over there may be mine 

But why then can I only see yours which awaits right behind 

Set me free, set me free

It's when you can't hear this that resentment covers the pulling silence that forces you closer to me

Blame, blame, who's to blame

You who remodels the same game endlessly or is it me  

Me, the one who is too afraid of the life that waits when your comforting arms move

Allowing me hit these virgin knees

Do I have what it takes to defeat the most harrowing enemy

After all, it's not you

It is me.

Pincushion Heart

It started by sifting through old journals. The annual examination of my pincushion of a heart that is. First things first: check for a pulse. With slight surprise and major relief, we're in business people.

Now to assess the surface wounds. The bruises. More appropriately titled: the cheap shots. Though painful when first received, they are on their way to a rapid recovery. Their delivery came from clumsy hands that never stood a chance at their target.

Time to stop the bleeding. New cuts. New love. Old routines. A slim needle pins the area doing it's best to disguise closure. Sew them quickly. Tie them tightly. Now check to see where the brick red trail leads and pray that it's not back to that place that seems to repeatedly seep.

The Scars. The cemetery of the heart. Proceed with caution when revisiting these young or wrinkled graves. Check your bare feet for any sign of new blood, it is what these old trails thirst for most. One drop is capable of birthing new hurt into the discolored tissue of these wounds. Instead enter with clean hands and gather the flowers of strength that escape their cracks. It was your courage that put them to rest and in turn planted new life. Leave with a bouquet that is petaled with accomplishment and stemmed by hope.

I've made the rounds. Now time to close shop. I'll lock the gates of the past and refuse to leave until I find the exit door that is stained beautifully with the word future. I will hang my keys here and step out to the dangerously promising bleeding beat of my own heart.