I can’t think fast

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up
My eyes are blurring over words.
They cannot read
or see them.
Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up
My head hurts badly from all this thinking.
I can’t stop thinking.
Make it stop.
stop, Stop, STOP RIGHT NOW!
I’m sick and tired of thinking through it.
To strain my brain to see the reason
of every action in the past
with regret I stutter, “I can’t think fast.”

Garments Golden

By: Rachel Wrathall


This life is made of threads of time,

with sticks and stones they intertwine.

It pulls you up and down, you see,

It pokes and prods, “Please set me free,”


The thread is coarse and rough, “and please,”

you say to the Tailor who sees,

“oh stop, desist, no more I say!”

We can’t see, but if we obey:


He’s making us garments golden,

soft comforting words embolden.

Whispering words sure come gently

“Trust in me” he says intently.


Faith in his plan will heal our hearts.

In the form of hope, fear departs.

Don’t be tempted to look behind,

What’s ahead is beyond a find.


The Tailor asks a lot, that’s true,

to weave and poke and prod us through

But if we have strength to molden

he’s making us garments golden

Be Gone


just let me shrink…

Nay, let me instead



Think only of him,

my sweet cherubim.

My chances are slim,

but swim.


Swim fast,

Never wane.

Make love last,

Never fain.


Silly head, be still.

Nay, it’s Satan-be gone!

Spare me painful trills

of past empty bygones.


Desist your painful snarls

Reminding me of the year in time

Where I cast my pearls

Before swine.


You bicker me, foul demon.

You block my mouth with sand.

You ridicule me to think on



Think false thoughts on and on.


-Rachel Wrathall

Art Soul

      By: Rachel Wrathall

I am an artist

to the heart.

And thus I list,

I’ll never part.


From molding clay

Into a bowl,

To painting a sun ray,

or a human soul,


I’ll never leave you

beautiful arts.

Myself be new

with improving smarts.


I few years ago

I could never draw.

Now I could never let go,

My new eyes see less flaw.


But still today I quake

Because the mounting tasks can sting,

But I know just what’s at stake,

If I don’t let my soul out to sing.

My Jesus in Leu

By Rachel Wrathall


My life is a blur

And to be honest I’m sure

I’m a real big mess,

I stress.


At the same time I’m comforted,

there’s someone watching over me.

In Heaven I’m not shorted,

If I just would bend a knee.


Before, in the past

When I wasn’t having a blast,

I’d cry in the night

Over my plight.


The angels overhead,

Have slowly strengthened me.

And my husband sleeping in bed

Surely for or me, did pray a plea.


Angels, thank you,

My Jesus suffering in leu.

My yet children from above

You are, to me, a dove.


We’re all going Crazy

I’m starving for words

to make my head seem straight,

for my bedtime thrill,

my daily drill.


I need my head tightened (tighter!)

I’m going crazy (fighter!)

Can’t focus, can’t relay

-words said to me.

There’s a delay.


I’m not alone.

All others stare off too

into the computer screen

-of death

at you.


At a pretty smile,

a flawless life,

while all the while

planning a brand new wife.


He has your number,

you posted it last night.

He knows where you’re eating;

it’s on Google Maps.


“Please RSVP, here’s my address!”

He knows what time your kids play at recess.

He knows because you told him,

Even your husband’s work hours.


We’re all going crazy,

staring into soulless screens.

Some think everything’s real,

but to others it’s no big deal.



Forever, for Good

I love him (I love him),

but for reasons unclear.

I try to grasp them, but they whisp past my ear..


I feel goodness around him,

But there is uncertainty in my heart.

Could I be (could I be),



Quick, think of the ways,

His oh so loving ways,

And list them so I don’t forget.


He’s nice.

He’s kind.

He’s one of a kind.

He’s picky.

He’s rude,

and has a rotten mood.


He’ll care for me always,

I love that he will.

But why does he love me?

His reasons aren’t real.


There’s no ring in his voice,

as a lying riddler would answer.

He just states the truth,

plain and simple.


So what if he’s hard headed,

He’s my dear heart-thump, Jared.

I don’t know how, but he is.


There’s no explanation,

And he may not deserve it,

But I love him forever,

For good.