Category Archives: Poetry & Writing

No Fingers Left to Point

I started this poem during a time when I was still using excuses as my crutch.  I was still relying on the good ole’ “I am this way because…” phrase.   The truth is that it is often easier to blame others than to accept and take on the challenge of change. It is easier to point fingers when you fail than to accept it a pathway to change.  In life, we must be careful though because soon we can be left with no more fingers to point.

 

No Fingers Left to Point

Finger points, gun ready aim,
fire
the broken glass is first,
because even shattered windshields require
blame.

First finger points
to their childish quarrels
as words expel more
an eye for an eye,
can they even remember
what that stands for?

Second finger points
he makes me do it
the choice is never my own
a squirrel cannot survive the streets
on such an indecisive throne.

Third finger points and cries
the ability to shoot back
depends on what her lonely heart lends
to her cheating hand
anything for a friend.

Fourth finger points
their words make her starve
to hunger differently
it is not her own
nor that of the skeleton they not see.

Fifth finger points
they fill her cup
like everyone does to fit in
as she still keeps track,
what even matters?
what even counts?
in drunkenness, she thirsts
a new way to silence, the crying within.

Sixth finger points
plaid skirts to her knees
try it the right way,
until rolls it to the waist
her morals to the curb
caves for someone to love
no one to save me
as if, no one watches above.

Seventh finger points
to her white dress
how can she still cry
how can she still yearn for more,
as he promises to stay
and plays the violin
over her broken seams
no longer knows herself
no longer the recipient
of her own dreams.

Eighth finger points
they judge her before
a mother they can see
babies she wraps in love
nurturing this new version

Of me.

Ninth finger points
these shoes teach me to be, just that
as they tiptoe into the dance
my feeble legs fake that seductive strength
of who they cannot understand
still broken in form,
but somehow, I still stand.

Tenth finger fires
and no more remain
leaves me as a fingerless pawn,
in this fruitless game.
For all these fingers, they point back too,
aimless, blameless, responsible,
and for the first time,
I face imperfection’s true attack:
no one to blame,
no where to point,
no where to run,
to face the truth, fingerless,
exposed accusations leaves me alone,
to do just that –
finally sells me back the truth
that accepts and forgives them all,
as I hold myself
in the unclenching of a fist,
for ten fingers I now lack.

Finally I accept it all to breathe free
responsible solely for me
with no fingers left to point,
I finally face
that I wish I had all ten of them back.


© Jennifer Kosuda and The Art of a Messy House (theartofamessyhouse.com), 2019. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jennifer Kosuda and The Art of a Messy House with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


Freedom comes when we stop pointing fingers. It is then we can unfold our fists and soften our hearts to the life we deserve. Excuses are just that, excuses. They will never bring us to the more our lives are made for. Those excuses are crutches that steal so much more from us than they do from those we direct our anger, our sadness, our fingers to.

Freedom comes with patience and prayer.

Freedom comes from time used wisely instead of being wasted in the distractions, in the excuses.

Freedom comes from forgiveness.

It comes from letting go of the clenched fist and allowing the heart to beat freely again. Freedom comes from leaving all the excuses on the beach and getting into the living, healing waters, instead of waiting for someone else to save us.

That was a difficult message for me to hear because I didn’t want to hear it. It was easier to blame others for my battles and hardships than take the matters into my own hands. For the longest time I thought that it meant I needed to take on and carry all of that weight myself.

But that is never the case.

We are never meant to carry the burdens ourselves.

The resentment and excuses will never allow us to truly be free of anxiety, depression and pain.

But learning to let it go will.

So, please forgive me now for the mess. I’d rather walk proudly with the scars and with my fingers and arms ready to hug my loves, even if it means I may have to skip, jump or even limp over the clutter at times. But at least I have no more crutches laying around to trip me up too.


“When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?” “Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.” Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.””

‭‭John‬ ‭5:6-8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

https://www.bible.com/111/jhn.5.6-8.niv


Get your mat and walk! Lay down the excuses no matter how long they have been stirring there, no matter how long you have been waiting. It’s your time to let go and live.

 

One Curled Eyelash

Days escape to the young rants,

of words, of requests, of needs,

beats for these moments,

pushes aside own innate greed.

Dries hair, upon my lap she sits,

collects hair ties to borrow,

bruised knees cry for ice as he shouts,

hungry bellies demand, it is time to eat,

still my face finds make-up has no time to greet.

The washed up circles, crookedly sewn lines,

I’ll moisturize you again, dear face, when I find the time.

Showers of just a minute to disguise the sweat,

if only the razor and hands could embrace, like when they first met.

Hairy tops blanket one of my limbs, the other one bare,

the dress I’m wearing forgets to check I swear.

The morning race to actually match pants to shirt,

unbuttoned, does not even check, when I run to see who is hurt.

Those same pants decide to shrink, revealing is not my intention, despite what watching minds may think.

Lipstick kisses away to chubby cheeks, and those that need a change,

loving,

wrinkles dance near my tired eyes,

perfect imperfections outline a decade,

where tweezers are now so strange,

on stained piles of laundry, atop countless toys that do not clean themselves,

in their boxes drown away beneath, yawns and vows, tomorrow to try.

But still days escape, both she and he,

the days slowly coax years to fly.

So I must smile, battling the urge to wish away, these same minutes,

where the imprint of handprints and those of their feet leave beauty marks to be celebrated and worn

those that time flies by, in a flash, captures the beautifully torn edges

upon a heart that learns to enjoy that very flash.

So when you look at me, you’ll see it too,

Wrinkled lines of joy, under that

one,

still,

curled eyelash.


© Jennifer Kosuda and The Art of a Messy House (theartofamessyhouse.com), 2019. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jennifer Kosuda and The Art of a Messy House with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Just Before Dawn

Just Before Dawn

After the darkest hour

comes the new dawn

comes where it all changes

revival to a world

where smiles form in the creases

of the new day’s yawn.

Just before dawn

the darkest hour of day

yet it stands in the knowing

in the praising

in the promise

that light is just hours away.

Even in the pits

there is a peace

there is a love

there is a hope

given to all who accept it in

the power, the light, the promise

that must keep burning within.

Just before dawn

the darkest hour of day

yet it stands in the knowing

in the praising

in the promise

that light is just hours away.

Not as the world gives

not as hearts can be troubled

not as the night fills with fear

for just before dawn

the light is still so very near.

Just before dawn

the darkest hour of day

yet it stands in the knowing

in the praising

in the promise

that light is just hours away.

-JK

For more on this: turn to John 14:27


© Jennifer Kosuda and The Art of a Messy House (theartofamessyhouse.com), 2019. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jennifer Kosuda and The Art of a Messy House with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.