Patiently Waiting ( I guess this is my poem to my Husband )

I don’t believe in schedules that aren’t full

Because empty time slots leave too much room for my thoughts to scheme mind games on themselves

Empty time slots allowing restlessness to creep into my bones giving my imagination an endless playground

Empty time slots where everything around me is still and silent no busyness to distract from the loneliness that dances with me in the moments where oneness is all that I know 

My roommate once told me, that I was the type of person who didn’t need people I wonder if she knows that I thrive off people needing me

To tend to them left and right so I can forget the fight that my waiting soul keeps having with my only sometimes anxious heart

And I know, good things come to those who wait

But greater ones to those who are patient

Sometimes, I just don’t want to be patient

I want to know what it really feels like to have someone not beside you

But still experience the pattern of their heartbeat next to yours from miles away

 To know what it feels like to not only be needed but wanted

 Not your body but the very presence of your essence

What it feels like for someone to say that they miss you, and not question if it’s true because you can pinpoint the place where your distance hurts the most

The idea that one person can handle all of these flaws and mold them into everything they consider beautiful

Sometimes,

I would like for my outsides to be looked at as beautiful in the same eyes that has seen me at my ugliest

Who will be able look at me as though the sun is rising behind my head even when my hair is a mess

For my love language to be spoken in ways I never new existed

We would create a new definition of I love you

Exchanging overrated three worded statements into three worded declarations

Like I adore you, saying sweet nothings like you are the apple to my pie with vanilla ice cream on the side

Or you are my intricate foam displayed dainty on my latte

He will be the skeleton and I will be the separated rib

He will be the living version of the highlights in my bible

Exemplifying the love of Christ in the way that his hands are raised

Eyes closed

Feet centered at the throne of God

He will be the flesh of the pages in my journal every unspoken poem and repeated prayer

 And when movie night just wont cut it he will ask if we could spend time soaking in music immersed in the presence of the one that holds us together

Yes, one day I will find love

 And we will be more than just two birds of the same feather

We will be one song with many different melodies

Once voice with many different harmonies

A lullaby moving smoothly through eardrums caressing every cartilage of our unborn children

Like sunrises and sunsets

Rising together

And setting in the same unison

I don’t think I know who he is

Where he is

What he looks like

But I wonder

When his restlessness stirs him from the bed he never sleeps in

If he looks at the stars the same way I do

And pretends they’re my eyes taking in every aspect of his being

That every time they sparkle he imagines that it’s me blinking

Occasionally even winking

And the gust of wind reminding him that it’s evening

Is really my breathing

Assuring that yes, I’m still out there

Patiently,

Waiting

Fullerton Piece!

Context: The event was titled, "The Blueprint Conference" 
Scripture verse: 1 Kings 6:12

:)

I told my parents

That if I were ever to get a tattoo

I would get an anchor on my ankle to represent everything that I find myself rooted in

Placed near my feet because they’re the only parts of me that knows what a foundation truly feels like

I thought that my family was my foundation

But in reality I found that they were the lighthouse in the midst of my

Growing pains looking a little like thick fog

When I came to college I realized that my fathers seminary degree was not my own

That I still had to learn and wrestle with the complexities of who God was

And just because I was deemed a Pastors Kid when his hands reached for his diploma

Did not mean that my foundation would be formed the same way his was

My first level started with a season loneliness

My feet planted in the security of …..in that very moment God was the only one who kept me from falling

My cement to ground me in his words written in red ink, firm and unmoving so that I could not ever confuse it for sinking sand 

Second level….

The knowledge that my purpose in life was not wrapped in the comments or opinions of others

Whose buildings were crumbling beneath them without even blinking once in disbelief

That my words and actions were to create one, straight, forward and then upward path that didn’t retrieve back to my own mouth

Third Level….

Whatever it is we think we are majoring in

We need to remind ourselves that it’s not in the science of how God works

It’s not the psychology of his mind because no textbook could put the definition of EVERYTHING into sufficient words

So our attempt to take notes on the final exam is in no way beneficial

Instead we just need to observe the art we cant explain and appreciate every intricate meaning it portrays

Fourth Level

It’s said that our bodies are temples

A holy place where the divine resides

So why do we carry our burdened black baggage inside of it?

Streaking the marble floor hindering us from seeing the decrees of our Lord

Inscribed in the surfaces and outlines of our temples

How can we fulfill that which we ignore?

Fifth Level

Let God be God in what God does and Only God will understand

He has already paved the road ahead of us

We have the same answers just in different books, said in different ways for different people

The tools are found in every experience that he allows us to face

Tools found in the little places of wisdom that he graciously exposes in unexpected moments

So take all that you have,

Which may not look like much

Imagine the temple he is calling you to be and urging you to build

And blueprint it

It's been a while.

Hello followers, and random readers who just happen to have come across this blog.
It's been sometime since i've posted, let alone posted an actual blog.
So here one is.
I just returned home from Cal State Fullerton after performing
 ( the Poem posted after this is the piece that I did)
and suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the reality of .... I write and perform..poetry.
As in, its kind of become my thing, I drive places to present little expressions of my creativity to all sorts of people.
People who know me, who do not know me, but know of me and people who refer to me as Ariel.
It's CRAZY!

I never thought in my college life that poetry would be such a evident aspect.
I mean sure, I'm minoring in theatre so I thought that was where the little performer in me would have her chance to make visits to her sometimes home (that being the stage) but never would I imagine that it would be my very own words I was presenting.

I am blown away by all that God has allowed me to experience in this past year.
It's amazing how much he has altered my life in such un-imagineable ways....

I don't really like titles that sort of represent ways we could be defined, or our worth could be given through...but today at Fullerton... I was referred to as "The Poet"
I wouldn't go as far as the superior "The" in the front of it, but I think at this point I should sort of claim it, I guess I am a poet.
Maybe I'll write a poem about it... (:

With love, metaphors and pretty similies,
Arie.

Titles

Titles intimidate me
They make my insecurity come from hiding and my 5'7 height shrink to non existent

Girlfriend
I'm afraid I won't hold still that my attention will be spilled in so many directions you won't know where to stand
boyfriend
Although it sounds sweet at first taste
There's way too many distorted definitions for people to even know what it really means
Ultimately I just want to be able to look and know that he's mine
To have a there goes my babyyyy type of moment
But when it really comes down to it I just don't think I have the time
Student
I'd rather be social than stuck in a cubical at the end of my 4year adventure
Maybe I'm learning that life can not be tamed
And knowledge stretches past a 40thousand dollar price tag
I'm just no longer sure where I stand with this financial hand wringing at my student wrists that writes papers and to-do lists
Poet
I don't feel as though I'm worthy quite yet
To wear this crown of poetry sitting on a throne of lyrical creativity
I could be taken this to an extreme but I mean those who call themselves poets express words from memories that they've tucked in hidden safeties locked with keys and release them with a pen
I can't say that's anywhere near where I've been
Pastors kid
5days out of seven
You could find me in pews
With microphones in one hand and harmonies on my lips
In brightly painted rooms with toys you have to squat down to
Goody two shoes
And prude become your name in cell phones that never press call when its highlighted
Because you would of been insulted anyway if you were invited
Daughter
I don't take lightly promises to make you smile at me
I'm disappointed in you is not words I can bare so ill spend every time I breath air
To make sure your aware that I want to make you proud
Not in ways where I obsess over getting As on tests but you can tell me you never had the courage to do that when you were my age
So that's why God gives you children so we can live it all again
But in their own way
Sister
Basically a mother oldest of four sisters and one brother
Make sure that they can look up to you and not shake their hands when staring down on you with eyes that ask why now they have to set the example so there's no next time
I promise to them they can always tell me what's on their mind
There's never a moment where I won't have the time of day for them because they make up the sun that shines
Mothers and fathers are there for the growing and nurturing but sisters are their for the pruning
To tell you what our parents won't to paint your nails
And sing songs that are made up to acoustic guitar backgrounds that I really can't play
Human being
Being not always doing
Breathing but sometimes stopping
Created for Loving
Destined for purposes that are past our understanding
Christian
Christ in anything in everything we do
From the way we talk
And walk when no one is watching
To live as though Jesus himself walked in step with us
Arielle
My ultimate title
The name behind these brown eyes light skin
And smile
A woman
Not a girlfriend
But a student
A pastors daughter
A sister
A human being
A Christian
Arielle

know you

I want-
To get to know you
I want to know not just your first name
But your whole name
Middle if you have one and last
Because that all ties into your past
I want to know what the meaning is according to baby name books
And then I want to know what it means to you
Namesakes are important and I want to make sure you hear yours every time my mouth discloses it as though it is dipped in gold and taste like honey

I want to get to know you
I want to know your family
The love you learned from your mother or didn’t
About the hero your father was to you
Or wasn’t
I want to know why
What type of soil is your family tree planted in
Is it rich or is it dry
Are there fallen leaves from extended branches that have fallen in you
Did the seasons change so rapidly
That now that inconsistency is warped inside of you

I'm not trying to be nosey
I just want to get to know you
Understand what you’ve been through but mostly see where you’re going
Walk on the side of you on these paths you are taking
And hold your hand when your knees start shaking

I want to get to know you
Understand what makes tears fall from your eyes
Of which the color I have memorized down to every pigment
Every shade change when the sun hits them
I want to know what makes you angry
What makes you tick
And then
I want to make you feel those emotions
Even though I don’t mean it
I want to get to know you
Know your favorites
What makes your insides feel like summer time
That lives between your heart in the midst of the bones of your ribcage
I want to know your dislikes
The things that you despise
What makes you shiver and Goosebumps appear up your spine
I want to get to know you so I can make you mine
Close my eyes as if I were blind
And know where every mole dimple freckle
Or imperfection you hate is placed
And my hand will know when yours is around
Like a familiar song that plays in the background
Of our story
That intertwines the way our fingers do
The rhythm of your breath will become so much a second nature to my own
And even though I will know it
Like I know my own your touch will still give me butterflies
I want to get to know you
So ill start
My name is Arielle
And I really do like long walks in the park

Woman Hands

I am the oldest of five
Which is my ticket to act younger than my current age
So that I never lose sight
Of the youth like fervor that will forever pump
Through my veins even while rocking in rocking chairs

I am the oldest of five
Which my ticket to act younger than my current age
So that means playing sneak behind your unaware sister and cover her eyes is okay
That is until everytime right away she knows that its you
So you ask her through laughs
“What? How did you know?”
And she responds with the same joy and says,
“Its because you’re the only one of us who has woman hands.”
Woman hands…
I assume that means hands that belong to a woman but I apologize if the girlish grin and one dimple reflection confuses me
Because well woman hands must belong to a woman
And that just cant be me

Because woman hands belong to those whose days consist of nothing for themselves
But every hour dedicated to every one else
Woman hands have held and let go of children as the youth of their fingertips leave with them
And woman hands have experienced first off what it means to love
What it means to feel two lives in sync as one
Woman hands have held onto dreams that were stronger than her clutch
No, see woman hands they cant be mind
That’s way too much
Because woman hands have wiped away more tears of others and have placed them neatly in treasure boxes next to her collected memories
Woman hands know a strength that reaches past gender and what a heavy burden really means because they’ve been weighed down by so many times

And so I state that Woman hands cant possibly belong to a twenty year old who still lives road trips for no reason
And the smell of cookies baked into early mornings that still feel like night
Memories being rewound and woven into blankets in quiet evenings
Woman hands are given by experience
Women hands are been there seen that
Lived there ate that
Cried then over that
Woman hands are soft like mothers
Strong like the paw of a lioness
And come in shades of color that make up the one they belong to
Woman hands are a privilege in which I guess I’ve been given
So come on woman hands, we’ve still got some livin’

To Every Person Who ever told me I was Beautiful

Thank you
For being the knights in shining armor that swept me away from my negative mindsets
For being the quiet hand on my shoulder that told me that fingers down throats
Were one…two many lies I was way too willing to accept
For being the frogs I didn’t have to kiss
In order to receive a happily ever after for myself
Thank you for being the mirror on the wall
Who did not feed me false hopes
But truth that I could swallow even though I was hesitant

To every person who ever told me I was beautiful
Even my parents
Although I assumed it was your job to hand me compliments on gold platters
Just so that I could get through a day dressed in everything baggy
So no Barbie could stiffly point out the flaws that already screamed at me from the top of every curve
Thank you for teaching me that beautiful comes from the heart that beats underneath the extra skin and the passion that swims around it stretching to my fingertips, which touch lives
And ripples into another young woman who fights her own demons of negative mindsets
Two fingered trolls that ask for two worded eight letter passwords
Starting with YOUR and ending in SOUL

To every person who ever told me I was beautiful
To which I responded with a quiet and unbelieving
Awh, thanks
I wasn’t being sarcastic when I said it
I meant it with every glance I couldn’t give you after receiving the compliment
I had continuously refused
Know that it was because of your
“You are beautiful” that I can look in the mirror and not turn away as if the face weren’t even my own
Thank you for planting seeds that are now rooted in my being
And creating in me a queen who doesn’t need the idea of a king
To define her allure
Thank you for the bridge built on positivity that I could cross ignoring two fingered trolls asking what the password is
To every person who ever told me I was beautiful,
I thank you
With every right-sided dimple
Un-moisturized hand
Hip handle
I thank you