Tuesday, August 30, 2016

if/when you're going through hell

You don't know how you ended up here 
In this wasteland 
This furnace 
This place of fire and brimstone 
You don't know 
How the floor dropped from beneath you
And you ended up here
In hell

They say demons live here
You know them well
And as far as torment goes-
Dante's Inferno has got nothing on you
The walls of this pit
Are well acquainted with your screams

Singed lungs
Smokey throat
And a voice hoarse
From no use
And abuse

Things that once held your fingerprints
Hold them no longer
The flames have licked them off
And devoured every thing
every hope
every dream
Left it all in ashes

So, you left them there
Let the soot take the passion
Choke it out
Just like you're choking out that prayer
Please don't leave me here alone.”

And I know you want to quit
You've been running for so long, love
Knee deep in lava
Feet cut up by rocks
Gashes across those knuckles
Bruises on that weary heart

Can I tell you something
A wise man once said?
If you're going through hell
You must keep on going
For that is no place to stop
And if you're feeling too weak
Like you can't possibly continue on
Remember that it's in the midst
Of weakness that His strength shows up

Because if the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego has anything to tell
It's the promise that

We do not go through the fire alone

Saturday, August 27, 2016



The world is at our fingertips, and stretches ahead
vast, and spread out before us - ours!
the dawnings and sunsets each unique and familiar,
but wild and surprising, simultaneously 
and we can at least claim that
if we're afraid to grab the rest - 
and a little bit afraid 
of being afraid.

But what are hands if not to touch - to hold?
why exist our feet except for walking?

where to go first? walk, and see...
it's nice to look, but more fun to touch.
Go ahead - get your hands dirty
you'll get There eventually, and in the meantime
isn't it awful nice to be Here?

Olivia (s) 

p.s. I'm happy to be right here... and I'm happy that you're here, too. 
Wednesday, August 24, 2016


there's this thing called "hope"

it's that lead rope you're holding onto
when the thick fog is laid over your eyes
and you can't see where you're treading

it's that little piece in your heart that says
"the light is coming"

that little piece that continually tries to convince you
day and night
night and day
that it will be okay

even though you are lying in the dark
probably in fetal position
tears streaming down your face
it will tell you

"you'll be alright.
maybe not today
but soon"

it's in your arms when you hug yourself
as you fall asleep

it's in your eyes when you put a quote on the wall
that comforts you

it's in your feet when you step out of bed
even if you dread it

it's in your heart
when it's all cracked and bleeding
but you still press on

it is that anchor
holding your soul

and as the waves come
know that they also go
and soon you will embrace them because

they led you to trust Him
they developed endurance
they made you stronger
and they slammed you into knowing His grace

-aaliyah xx
Sunday, August 21, 2016

break free

thank you Aaliyah for being a beautiful muse

i want to write but i feel like i am


in my own words
in my own thoughts
in my own


telling me to be strong
telling me to hold on
telling me to fight the


that tries to break me
that tries to take me
that tries to hold me captive in my


i must break free
i must be me
i must stop letting everything get the best of

yet you hold me and you say
"you are nothing, but I AM something"
"you don't have to be good enough because I already AM"

you see it's not who i am it's who He is
when you figure out it's not you and it's Him then you break the pattern
you begin

to be free

you realize that you can be anything and you can overcome
when you die to self
when you take off the mask
when you give it to Him

He will carry it
He will devastate the darkness
He will hold you and make everything


-jacyrayn xx

Saturday, August 20, 2016

we are louder

I was in the backseat. I think I had earbuds in. I think my head was resting on my fist as I watched the blurry trees doing their blurry tree thing out the window. My heart was tossing back and forth with thoughts and bittersweet memories and aches. I remember praying, in a silent kind of way. The kind of prayer that is unspoken yet louder than your head can handle.

I started thinking about the music in my head and how we connect with it. How we can feel the lyrics and relate to them, and how through them, sometimes, we can find healing. How, if we choose, we can use the energy inside of us-- the words, to ignite the light within us. We can find solace, and solidarity. We can be made stronger. But there has to first be lyrics that are brave enough to tell us that they are with us, and that we are not alone, and that there is, in fact, more. 

"Why don't you write about that? Write about what's inside of you."

Those were the words the inner voice seemed to speak into my heart that afternoon, in the backseat while I watched those trees go by. It was a coin dropping. It was a yes. A great big yes, and an affirmation that there was a need inside of me to be braver and bolder and louder. I wanted a community, a space, a reaching out and holding of hands and singing of the same song. Because we are in this together. It was an idea that would morph into late night talks with my sister, that would turn into collaborating with writers and artists and souls that are beautiful beyond measure, it would turn into this. This right here.

I don't want to feel alone. I don't have to feel alone. And you don't have to feel alone either. None of us do.

There is more. There is light.
we are alive, we are beautiful
we are fighters.
We were "born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us."

It's so easy to feel like you're alone with the voices inside of your head-- like you are the only one who hears their volume. Like you are the only one fighting them in the dark of the predawn. But actually we all hear the voices. We all lie awake at three AM sometimes, with a raging heart and sweaty palms--

We all hear them.
And yes, they are loud, but we?

We are louder.



Tuesday, August 9, 2016


i hate the eyes like razors, 
passing sentence on skin, 
something that doesn't belong to it. 

i hate the ski mask.
i hate that i feel like i tuck myself away into a closet
before I get in the car
and drive away
with someone who isn't really 

i am the liar.
i am the facsimile of someone
who looks a lot like me
someone who wears my clothes
and my lipstick
and uses my 

I'm not really here,
not really.
I'm somewhere

I'm watching from the narrow windows alongside the front door,
as my car pulls away with the assembled version of a person
who is scared of the light from
her own soul.

I am going to take a pair of scissors one day
and cut up this ski mask
one day.

one day the shadow,
the ghost,
will be in the closet.
instead of

because shadows don't need air to breathe
and i do.

i'm pounding on the other side of the door,
asking me
to let myself 


one day.