Ineffectual by Helen Jun

this cliché is blaringly foreign: this pseudo-

shallow, callow kind of disabling of words

renders my poetic style completely irrelevant.


7 years of orphaned poetry. the perpetual 

depression of melancholic indentation

jabbed with pain that strikes the heart-and-eye

the punch line, the throbbing ring of naked-hollow

sorrow, the aesthetic grief of rhythm and rhyme

the lament of broken words, haunted

by past-present reality, abused into

submission, trial after trial after trial trial trial



yet here i sit today, prayer and pencil in hand

somehow, at some point, you've changed me.

this feeling of saplings and children and dreams and new gifts—

i'm so happy. bubbly. artlessly excited by the joyful futility

of grasping at connotations and definitions and banal phrases.

Jesus, teach me to express despite words this new thing

of being loved by you. i your healing, lovable daughter.


because now i realize:

i love you still, like a sunflower to the sun.

You love me creative, as poetry could never detail, for You can't be contained in these tiny,

          ineffectual abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz.

Posted on November 5, 2015 .