Hey. I see you. I see your precious beauty. But, to see you is to also see your suffering. I know you wish I did not have to always see it. I will see it. So, I will show you mine. I bare my heart so you can bare yours. I am here. I am … More i see you
I have been asked many times what it is like to be a ‘pastor’s kid’. I never really have a set answer. I don’t really remember any different. Before my father led Gospel Central Church my parents were still in leadership in the church we came from in South Africa. I don’t know what it is … More Pastor’s Kid?
I hope to never stop being wrecked by God’s great, abundant love. I am no longer a slave to fear, I am a child of God. I sang that without truly realising what it meant. I lived as a slave, but I was free. No longer do I have to weep on the ground begging … More Wrecked, by God’s love
I stand in a vast field of short yellowing grass on a raised pillar of white marble. She is beautiful a voice says. My hearts cracks a little. She is my love. A tear escapes. She is mine. I collapse. Flood waters break open and rush into the field, falling from my eyes. The sky … More she is mine, she is always mine.
Brothers with blonde hair are easy to spot in a crowd. That is, in any crowd. But what if he is in a crowd of blondes you ask? Well, there are not many that are the same blonde as him. For you see my brother’s skin is as dark as chocolate. His hair sprouts from … More Blonde Hair Brother
A cry steps out my chest and calls into the ocean abyss. The waves batter my limbs against my body and leave me powerless. A current grabs my legs and fights to pull me into its waters. The air in me replaced by liquid and I am breathless. My salty tears drown my lungs and … More depression again…
Weep a lonely song little boy.
Weep long and quietly. … More a poem ‘Weep, little boy’
To feel the urge to write but to have nothing to write about. Or, more so to not have the will to write about things one wants to write about, rather, than them not being there to write about. So, instead to relieve the incessant flow of mental diarrhoea I shall write about nothing. … More Writer’s Block
Where is my home? The world tells me the places and feelings that are my home. They tell me my home is the house in the land I grew up in and there I should stay. Do they know that house is now a pile of broken walls and shattered windows that bury my … More Refugee Man
Being sick, as I am right now, always reminds me how special it is to feel great. It makes me long for how good it feels to be fine. I don’t realise how special it is to be alright when I am alright. It’s only when things suck do I truly remember how thankful I … More sick…