R.J. Conte's Blog, page 3

Crumbs

Give me the crumbs

I’ll lie under Your table
I may be the dog that licks at the heels
Of Your precious children
But I venerate You
The crumbs are enough.
Only look my way
That shine out of the corner of Your eye
Is enough sunlight for me and my house
For the rest of my days.
To be seated at Your feast
Feels like a twinkling dream
Of a distant memory
From a happy infancy.
Only leave me the crumbs
And I’ll glean like Ruth
And sleep at Your feet
And expect nothing more
It is enough.

I Came

I made the decision to come

Heart in my throat

Head stuffed full of worries

Like a train speeding full of cargo

Racing away

I made the decision to come

I long to be here

I worry I am doing you in

Why is it so hard

To decide to come

I made the decision to come

Because deep down I’m fiercely brave

And I believed the best about you

And thought the best of myself

I made the decision to come

But maybe I chose wrong

He is, I Am

I am not Me

Neutral entity

Standing alone

Whole Independent

No

I am darkness and sin

Inky blackness within

And without

All around

Helpless

Then Christ

He isn’t just the Light that

Bathes me

Cleans me

Blankets me

Holds me

Not just

He also fills me

I become light

Piercing sanitizing

Holy saint

Changes my identity

Flesh not only

Bands of energy

His brilliance

Like my skin is an outline

Full of Him

I Miss You

To my miscarried little brothers and sisters

I miss you

You were not another number to me

All life is precious

I’ve been taught that from birth

The breaths you breathed through another

Still count

Your genetic code was unique

Because you could not live, someone else did

Yet they say you never existed

They care about organisms in ponds

Water on Faraway planets

Foreign life in science fiction

Imaginary genders

Parts of the brain

But not you

My living, growing, dying

Baby sibling

I miss you

...

Dear Author

[image error]Guys, guys! I got a chance to beta read this super encouraging book of letters, and I HIGHLY recommend this for every author out there. Our art can be super discouraging on even the best of days, and Laura A. Grace takes it upon herself to gush, encourage, and move us authors to tears with her sweet praise. Please check this book out!

Words have the power to change lives, especially when they are used to create meaningful stories. In this collection of letters, bookish fangirl Laura A. Grace...

My Blood is Warm

It always surprises them that blood is warm

They expect it to be cold

Lifeless

Dead

When they slice, when they stab

They expect my blood to leak like a long-abandoned puddle of rainwater

But it gushes

Flows

It is a life-force

Hot

Fresh

Attached to me

Directly pumped from my heart

It coagulates on their hands and they grow angry

Why is it warm? Why is it thick?

Why does it have weight?

Why does it stick and stain?

Why doesn’t it evaporate like transparent tears?

Why doesn’t it come off...

People Aren’t Toxic

I’m going to be the first to raise my hand and say, “I love psychology.”

I love a healthy splash of psychology with my theology in deep, dark discussions. I love understanding the brain *and* soul of a human being, and the great strides we’ve taken lately to understand neurological health as well as physical health. We promote mental health, we discuss it, we share about it – overshare sometimes – and we have learned to take a second look into what makes people tick and how they have been...

Frost

Waking up, toes frigid

Gray daylight stripes through blinds

Prickly bumps on skin

Ice embedded in the chest

Ears Rlrisy, breath cloudy crystals

You too

I wake and you still have not thawed

It shocks – gray stripes in your heart

No warmth, blocks of fear

Hide the sunlight that uses to light your face

The tears that once shared

Crystals melted on your face

If only your soul was not frost too

Thanksgiving

When I was a child, the lists came easy

Four or five of the same things, always consistent

Mom and Dad and pecan pie

Stuffed animals, best friends, and a really fun movie

Giving thanks meant spouting the list

Not complaining or you’d get extra chores

Writing obligatory lines of gratitude on stationery

Making sure I smiled when shaking hands

Now that I am grown, the things I could name

Have sprouted along with me, an endless monologue

But instead of just writing my one thousand gifts

And...

Gossamer Tears in a Patchwork Heart

If this isn’t bravery, I don’t know what is
Entering again with your second little lamb
Trying when advised even though you were the statistic
Arriving at the place where your heart stopped beating
Where his heart stopped beating and yours with it
Bravery isn’t falling off cliffs or high dives into the ocean
It’s not wrestling crocs and swimming in Amazons
At least not for me
It’s walking on your own two feet toward the dark stain of past blood
Erecting an altar and saying, “God I’ll try...