I spent last year on my bathroom floor. I was crying hysterically (I'm pretty sure it was hysterical, but nobody came up to check on me) I had my heart broken. The story unravelled in the typical fashion: girl likes boy, boy would much rather have talented rich girl. Girl feels sad. Girl spends New Years Eve wiping her face with the bathroom rug. What a sad, sad story. What a pathetic girl.


I recall looking up towards God (or the bathroom ceiling, you choose) and asking Him to keep this from happening. I wanted Him to keep me from feeling this unbearably lonesome, this haggard, this pitiable. My best friend went out with her boyfriend after listening to me sob uncontrollably for two hours, so I had to choose between talking to God or a bottle of Head & Shoulders. I realized then that I only exhausted my best friend with my tragedies, and this marked the beginning of our decaying friendship. I suppose the “uh-huhs” and “you are going to be okays” were no longer enough for me. The friendship ended several months later. It was very cut and dry. I was just fucking tired of feeling unimportant.


I remember having this huge bruise on my thigh that I got from stumbling into a sharp corner of my bed frame, but somehow the wine had dwindled the feeling down to just a semi-irritating tingle.


Anyway, here I was. I had single handedly begun the alienation of the people around me. One by one my friends dropped dead like ladybugs during the wintertime until all of my communication devices became obsolete. My cell phone gathers more dust than my grade eight geography award.


And then I just stopped crying. I stopped crying and said:


“Don’t you dare ever let me fall in love with somebody who is going to walk away. Don’t you even dare let somebody break me like this again. Don’t you dare.”


I was threatening a deity. I’m pretty sure there was some fist shaking involved. Like it was His fault I was such an idiot.


I spent 2009 like a bulldozer; destroying and dismantling what I suspected had made me so miserable. I escaped people that treated me like the stuff you would find in your kitchen drain. I changed my perspective on the world. I harvested knowledge. I became devastatingly unpopular, and I didn’t give a shit.


The point is, in 2010 I would like to look pretty for somebody. I would like to sit around, eating pizza and listening to music while laughing with the people that share my disturbing sense of humor. I would love to work on being a better, more involved older sister.


I really, really want to look pretty for somebody but I'll settle for not having to use a bathroom rug to wipe snot and tears from my face.

-----

She’s what I would imagine angels look like;
flawless with the exception of her wedding ring
plush lips, sultry with markings within them
like arrows to my destination of choice.

Skin, allegedly imperfect with its freckles but perfect with its scars
and memories of things that cannot be easily hidden by make up,
they do not retire when she wakes like the demons
arresting her slumber in the night.

Raven locks falling past her shoulders like ink upon crisp sheets of white
marking her silhouette with a crown of black
she adorned her wrists with gold tonight, her lips with scarlet red
her green eyes are a biological rarity with the way they are just green
Not green and brown, or green and blue. Just green.

They scan the parameter as if searching for an exit, a way out of this smoke and haze
and the music of this loaded pub.
She must have been a goddess, still uninformed about the arrival of Christ
and the death of mass believers.
Big eyed, bewildered, and but of course-
Bruised.

A femme fatale in a backless black dress with her tears traveling past her chin
past her collar bone, lost into the darkness of her chest
almost if her melancholy was eager to locate her heart
but got absorbed into the shell of skin.

If only my anatomic schematic would allow me to fully pleasure her,
relieve the tensions she carried in her slender shoulders
I would gladly rectify her anxiety
and set her free.

But I hadn’t what she was looking for
and I hadn’t brought my needle and thread
and I couldn’t sow the wings back onto angelic form that could no longer soar
above the heavenly altitudes to a place where no causality of human betrayals could harm her.

Although her phantom self sat at the bar, a man’s hand on her inner thigh attempting to gain entry,
the reality was her heart, the heart that was sought by her tears, was on the bottom of her lover's shoe
with the bubble gum, crusted phlegm, and dirt.

-----

LINK


Reverend C. Thomas, a senior pastor of the Living World Bible in Mesa, Arizona, believed that Jesus Christ was a part of a wealthy family despite the embedded image of him being poor.


His claim is that Jesus could not have been poor because he received fine gifts of myrrh, gold, and frankincense at his birth. He also mentions that Mary took a donkey, the luxury transportation of that time for the poor typically ate their donkey and only the wealthy used it for travels.


In the New Testament, it is reported that soldiers gambled over his undergarments, something that would not be done unless his clothing had a meaty expense.


He also claims that Jesus’ followers should not be poor and that God rewards them with financial stability and spiritual gifts.


What do you think? Does it matter to you if Jesus was rich or poor?