i.

In another universe, the sky is always the softest blue,

but it rains more often than it does here.

The storms are loud and claim to know all about me.

My thoughts are as tangled as my hair,

and I draw butterflies and flowers all over my arms.

I forget half the ideas that flutter past my grip,

but I remember being passionate about them all.

 

ii.

In another universe, the wildflowers smell like scented candles.

The city lights blink a little brighter

but take little more than a breath to flicker out.

Late-night imaginings of heaven never end,

while my earth-tied heart sinks along with the sunset.

Shooting stars are kisses blown to me

or the moon’s dripping tears. I can never decide.

 

iii.

In another universe, one cannot love too deeply,

and staring into space is what captures our avid attention.

People glow when they speak and smiles are forest fires.

I understand the lightning when it cannot find the words to say

and instead strikes the earth in hissing frustration.

Ink stains streak over sunflower petals,

and my fingers are smudged with dried, red paint

in the most unpoetic ways possible.

 

iv.

From this other universe, I watch the world around me,

strangely, yet securely, safe in the one I created.

I wished for the space to fill when I was younger,

believing it a burden to be on the outside looking in.

But voices have whispered, “I want to see inside your head”;

and it was the moment I let them in

that I saw how tightly my messy world deserves to be gripped.

Perhaps I am on the inside looking out.

 

v.

There is chaos in every corner of my universe,

and there is little that makes sense to the outside world.

Yet there is inexpressible relief in resting

in the certainty of neither weighing thoughts nor sifting words,

but pouring every one out in prayer, simply as they are—

trusting a compassionate ear to listen,

and a faithful, tender hand to take them up.

What is worth keeping will be kept, and,

with a breath of kindness,

the tainted remains will be swept away.

Cindy Green is a forest-wandering, poetry-scribbling stargazer with messy notebooks and messy thoughts. Despite her love for all of God’s creation, sunflowers and stars in particular have a way of sneaking into both her writing and her heart (but you won’t hear her complaining about it). She is an amateur sword-wielder with a Highland-dancing warrior spirit who also writes letters to the moon and considers the sky her best friend. A focused daydreamer, organized pack rat, and oblivious observer, she is a self-professing ambivert (or a living contradiction) who deeply feels both the beauty and fallen state of the world. Through her words, she hopes to describe the indescribable and form personal connections with people while reflecting a love for her Savior and a passion for everything she touches.

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