[belief]

My belief is a sport.

All people have their own beliefs,

And it can be intense, practiced everyday,

Or it can be chill, however they desire.

Belief is about practice and effort,

It will be reflected in the outcome.

I value putting time and effort into

Relationships, making them complete,

And in turn completing myself.

I believe I am competent in those things,

Because of the work I put in.

Church may provide community,

But a sports team can do the same.

My belief is a sport.

--Jessica Thomas

[problems]

My problems are clouds.
They're shaped differently everyday
It's impossible to anticipate what they'll be tomorrow.
Some days there are many, all intersecting
Some days there are just a few,
They seem small and very far apart
Some days they are dark,
Full of rain that pours down.
I have trouble imagining they'll ever go away.
Of course, there are those glorious days
When there is not a cloud in the sky,
I can hardly remember what they look like
On the clear days, I can see with perspective
how they come and go in different forms
They never last for long.
My problems are clouds.

--Lisa Weiman

[beginnings]

my beginnings are small.

because at the start greatness has not yet come.

they are never at their full potential.

potential is unknown.

undeveloped.

they are surreal almost like a dream.

not a clear picture of reality.

my expectations are never completely met.

there is no greater understanding.

I feel anxious, uncomfortable, excited, and hopeful.

I long for the future to see the larger picture.

they are youthful and silly.
my beginnings are small.

--jessica cross

[church]

My church is a well-rehearsed play.
The theme is love, hope and faith,
An audience participates but watches as well.
Freedom is given and the effects are reviewed,
God's presence is the climax and resolution.
My church is a well-rehearsed play.

--Summer Yates

[the inspiration]

My Heart

Cassie Plett

My heart is an old house.
Oh how beautiful it was so long ago!
Walls fresh with white paint and sunflower yellow trimming the door.
The sweet smell of lavender and the sound of laughter filling the air!
That was once upon a time.
My heart is an old house.

My heart is an old house.
Stormy weather has faded the paint and warped the wood.
The windows have shattered and the lights have burnt out.
The bed is broken and the sheets are stained.
My heart is an old house.

My heart is an old house.
Outside a rusted swing set creaks in the wind.
A tattered baby doll lies on the floor.
Her body pierced by glass from the fallen pictures of loved ones
that once adorned the walls.
My heart is an old house.

My heart is an old house.
An indestructible wall guards it,
Built by both lifeless and callous hands.
Only, my house is still intruded upon,
And it is I who cannot escape.