Shit That Rhymes

I’ve never been the type to cling to tradition. Honestly, most traditions feel like brick walls built to block authentic change and suffocate true creativity. I don’t do things “the way they’ve always been done” — especially when it comes to faith.

My rebellion against routine runs deep, even in prayer. I’ve never been one to bow my head and recite perfectly polished, church-approved phrases. That has never felt real to me.

When me and God talk — it’s a fight or it’s a poem. We wrestle through my stubbornness, my questions, my past. The struggle gets loud. The honesty gets raw. And somewhere in the chaos, grace still shows up.

Since I can’t exactly paint a picture of two sweaty idiots spiritually wrestling in the dirt, I share the other side of our conversations — the poetry. The prayers that bleed. The truth that aches. The faith that refuses to be quiet or tidy.

This isn’t tradition.
This is transformation.
One wrestle. One poem. One breakthrough at a time.

Some New "God Conversations"

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Older Shit That Rhymes

Mental health and addiction didn’t just influence my life — they hijacked it. One tried to bury me. The other tried to own me. Addiction is the one I fought tooth and nail, and through healing and grit, I finally conquered it. Mental health is the battle that never fully ends — the part of me I’ve learned to understand, manage, and respect. It’s not my identity, but it is my reality. One I choose to live with openly, not hide from. Because victory doesn’t always look like elimination — sometimes it looks like acceptance, strength, and refusing to let the struggle define who I become.

Homeless On The Beach

The sand beneath my tired feet,

The ocean’s roar, both harsh and sweet.

I lie beneath the sky so wide,

With only waves as a place to hide.

The sun sets low, the colors bright,

But I’m a shadow in the fading light.

The warmth of day now turns to cold,

A heart once bold, now worn and old.

The world moves fast, but I stand still,

With nothing but the sea to fill

The silence deep, the quiet scream,

Of broken hopes, and shattered dreams.

The seagulls cry, the waves crash loud,

I’m lost within this restless crowd.

No place to call my own at night,

Just stars above and sand in sight.

I used to dream of better days,

Of solid ground, and brighter ways.

But here I am, with nothing more

Than salty air and ocean’s roar.

Yet in the dark, there’s peace I find,

The sound of waves, the stars aligned.

For even here, I feel the grace

Of something larger, in this space.

The beach is harsh, the nights are long,

But in this struggle, I grow strong.

A lesson learned, a life reborn,

Homeless, yes, but not alone.

Date: April 2009

Place: Carolina Beach, North Carolina

Mood: Depressed & Overwhelmed

Setting: Self-medicating, mental health out of control.