Numb

I do not want to be numb,
For if I am numb, I cannot be open to love.
If I am numb, I cannot feel the pain of another.
If I am numb, I cannot reach out to heal a wound.

I do not want to be bitter,
For if I am bitter, I cannot speak words of hope.
If I am bitter, I cannot see the good in all.
If I am bitter, I cannot learn to forgive.

I do not want to be judgmental,
For if I am judgmental, I cannot embrace the least of these.
If I am judgmental, I cannot find beauty in the unexpected.
If I am judgmental, I cannot learn from hidden teachers.

I do not want to be prideful,
For if I am prideful, I cannot accept my weakness.
If I am prideful, I cannot truly grow.
If I am prideful, I cannot have a humble heart.

I want to be emboldened,
For if I am emboldened, I can discover joy in any situation.
If I am emboldened, I can be at peace.
If I am emboldened, I can love without hesitation.

For Kelly and Morgan

For Kelly: “May we who eat be bread for others. May we who drink pour out our love.” -Bernadette Farrell

For Morgan: “If you don't risk anything, you risk even more." -Erica Jong

Prisoner

I am a prisoner—one who requires neither chains nor bars.
I am a prisoner of the fear that I am not good enough.
I am a prisoner of a pride that mercilessly binds me.
I am a prisoner of moodiness and inconsistency.
I am a prisoner of the need to be right.
I am a prisoner of my denial of my close-mindedness.
I am a prisoner of all those whose opinions harm me.
I am a prisoner of wild, thoughtless impulses.
I am a prisoner of my predicted defeat.
I am a prisoner of a complex hierarchy of relationships.
I am a prisoner of unnameable emotions.
I am a prisoner of my own hesitation.
I am prisoner of overwhelming hypocrisy.
I am a prisoner of a bitterness that binds me.
I am a prisoner of my past and my future.
But one day, I will break these chains.
One day, I will be free of this cell
in order to bind myself to this—
becoming a prisoner of love;
becoming one who is tied forever
to every other person, regardless of status.
Someday, my shackles will fall,
and I will stand—a prisoner of love.

I walk on by

He is homeless.
He struggles, by himself,
To muscle a car tire
Into a wheelbarrow—his only possession.
Time and again,
Using varying strategies,
He tries and fails.
I sit at the intersection
Thinking that I could help.
That I should help.
But I drive on by.

He is homeless.
The rain pounds on his
Grey hair and hunched shoulders
He stands in the right lane,
Right thumb halfheartedly up,
Knowing he will not get a ride.
I sit, dry and content,
Thinking that I could help.
That I should help.
But I drive on by.

He is homeless.
He trudges into the restaurant
Just looking for a restroom.
He tries to buy a drink
To be allowed to use their facilities.
They refuse him
And hurry him to the door
For fear of a stench or a scene.
I sit with friends, cup in hand,
Thinking that I could help.
That I should help.
But I let him walk on by.

He is homeless,
With defeat in his eyes
And not a friends
To pass the time.
For I have rejected him,
Betrayed him, crucified him.
All the while, denying my role
Just thinking that I could help.
That I should help.
But I walk on by.

For Sarah and Colleen

For Sarah, who used to be my roommate and who just graduated from SLU and got engaged: “I shall pass through this world but once. If therefore there can be any kindness I can show or any good thing I can do, let me do it now; let me not defer it or neglect it.” -Étienne de Grellet

For Colleen, my brilliant cousin who just graduated from high school: "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined."-Henry David Thoreau

Unknowing Revolutionary

A man asks, “Is that blue?”
Before reaching into a pile of
Colorful foam letters and numbers.
He chooses an eight,
Tosses it into the plastic bin,
And announces “I did it!”
This man holds my heart.

A man asks, “Is that blue?”
When he picks up a crayon.
He leans over his paper
And creates concentrated circles
Here and there
And announces “I did it!”
This man holds my heart.

A man asks, “Is that blue?”
Then angrily shouts
“I don’t want it,”
When circumstances shift a bit.
He lashes out with an open hand
And announces, “I did it!”
This man hold my heart.

A man asks, “Is that blue?”
I tell him yes
And wrap my arms around him.
His refrain: “I love you.”
Then he announces “I did it!”
This man holds my heart.

Pride

Pride is the idol for which I strive.
It is the flirtatious seducer.
It is the deceitful, dangerous song of my heart.
My ego is the altar I build to myself.
It is the foundation of every selfish thought.
It is the brilliant light to which I am drawn.
My reputation is the end of all my decisions.
It is the cloth I don each day.
It is the apple of my conceited eye.
I pound my face into the dirt,
begging for gentle humility.
I reach my hands heavenward,
laying down my egotism before a God of Love.
My pride has led to selfishness,
so I discard it to become a servant.
My pride has led to anger,
so I discard it to become a lamb.
My pride has led to despair,
so I discard it to become a dreamer—
I dream of growth, peacefulness, gentleness.
I dream of unhesitating love.