Exciting New Announcement!!!

Guess what?! Peter and I are launching a new blog, called Awkward Truth. It’ll have all the content that was on Miznos, only more. Plus, a larger emphasis on guest posts and a clearer purpose.

With Awkward Truth we want to focus on discovering God’s absolute truth in His relational and natural creation, even and especially when it’s awkward.

But before we launch we need your help.

We’ve created a two-question survey. Your answers will shape the direction of this new project.

Will you take a few minutes to:

1. Complete the survey yourself
2. Forward this email to anyone you think might be interested

Here’s the link to the survey:


Thank you so much for your support!

In Christ,
Jason and Peter

P.S. If you choose to subscribe for emails about the relaunch and are already subscribed to Miznos, you will be automatically taken off your Miznos subscription. Don’t be alarmed! You’ll still get notified about our most recent posts etc. except through our all-new Awkward Truth email list!


Power Corrupts

You want to change the world, but the world is changing you.
And the scariest part is you think you’re the same—
That you’ll never change.
Just got famous so you could be listened to.

And the scariest part is maybe you’re right.
Maybe it’s not changing you.
Cuz you were corrupt to begin with.
Voice for the voiceless, but fans find you easy to sin with.

We are all insecure, broken people.
Cracked skull and soul, spilling blood.
And we try to make art to control it—
A collage made of carnage.

You say you aren’t faking.
But you try to look sexy.
And you tell me your lies.
Look me in the eyes and speak truth. . .

Do you love man more than God?
Do you crave their attention?
Do whatever’s not ‘wrong’?
Call it evangelism. Encouragement.
I don’t. It’s self-nourishment. Idolatry.

I just want to close my ears.
But the issue is it’s inside of me too.
It’s inside of me first.

Visions of lust—
Uncontrolled bitterness.
And self-addiction.
I need you to praise me.
I can’t let go.
All I know is…
I can’t.

The question is can I believe
There was somebody perfect
And it’s not me?
There are hands holding
When I can’t see.

Can I really agree,
More than just intellectually,
That there was only one who could ever change the world?
Lord, you did it perfectly.

Can I use all my broken, twisted emotion—
Slow-motion to point to Him.
Can I give Him all the glory
While I’m still fighting to put away sin?

And for now, I’m partially twisted.
It’s nothing the famous untwist.
But we point each other to you, Lord—
Bear witness.

And where we fail, because we fail, help us remember you again.
And follow no matter what—to death.
Let each and every one of us find you, because we’re seeking.
And if you could just shed a small flare of light on yourself through my art, somehow I think that would be enough.


Baby, here in the waning light
I can feel you breathe.
I can feel the feeling of your teardrops stopping when they touch me.
Don’t even realize it’s just in my mind.
When you give me compliments,
I feel more myself.
If I can be enough for you,
Maybe I won’t feel unworthy.

But I still curl up, when you leave, staring at the ceiling wondering what all your words actually mean.
I’m not strong.
And I still feel alone,
Even though you were right here just yesterday.
I know we’re both so broken—
Falling, flattered fragments.
So unfocused.
Breaking, battered bits of black and blue.
The broken can’t heal each other.

I’m screaming.
How can I be a leader,
If I am not first led.
I just follow the bleating lambs.
Who can end these conversations in my head?
How can I point to the Savior if I don’t know that I’m saved.
My hands slipping from this rope, bleeding.

It’s all in my heart, soul.
Not just how I behave.
Change myself so I don’t only crave me.
I guess I’m only in the grave, see.
Need your resurrection power.
Life—flooding through my veins.
Not some irrelational dope. It’s you holding me in your hands.

She will drop me; lose her hold.
But these hands won’t.
When I blow it, you keep waiting and you blow me
Father, be my father so I can be your son.
And know I’m not the only one.

I tried to fill the void.
Tried to cram my sister in the middle of my soul.
Tried to pour my pain to my brothers.
They taste the sweat in the ripped pages of my soul and try to still it.
But they only pour more fire.
We can’t heal each other.

You bind me.
You find me.
Like a bird hovering over deserts.
Come down. Carry me away from loneliness.
From myself.
Unbind me.
Unblind me.
My head knocked against your chest, somehow comforted.

Teach me respect, sonship.
Your hand on my shoulder. Eyes locked. Knighted.
Like my gender’s more than my body
Or mistaken stereotypes.
More than attractions. Hormones—out of the corner of my eye.
You don’t change. You are the potter. All others broken reeds.
You’re forming me—holistically holy.
Holistically me.

I’m pleading to be a son.
Because you call me to be a son.
I was created for you.
But in so many ways I still don’t get it.
Help me get it.
That you’re different—not just another one.
You’re everything. You’re reaching me through them.

Dear Lord, the one thing left to say is forgive me.
Forgive me for looking everywhere but you.
For trying to be saved, but not looking to the Savior.
And rejecting your blood.
All in the name of love.
I’m sorry!

Dear Sister

You tell me your heart is breaking.
You tell me you’re tired of faking.
Why do you have to be the tough girl?
Your world’s falling apart, and you can’t remake it.
You feel like God left you when you needed Him most.
You know your babe will leave you, though he’s promised he won’t.
And you’re a wreck.
You’re sick of it.
You swear that you’re all alone.
Death creeps closer to home.
All your friends turned to stone.
And your family won’t stop fighting. No!
You think you’re a mistake.
And you hate.

Don’t run to me;
The hot heroes on your screen;
They can’t save you.
I can’t stop your inner crisis.
I can’t be who only Christ is.
I was blind.
There is one who can bind up.
There is vision.
I still feel lost sometimes,
But we were bought so dearly.
He never let go—not for a moment.
When you say you can’t feel Him,
He is still holding you.
The clouds don’t blot out the sun,
Or even dim it.
He didn’t go anywhere.
He can take your shattered pieces.
Make you new.
You are worth more than you could ever imagine–
Than I could ever see.
Go to the well and drink—-
Not from broken cisterns.
You don’t have to be the tough girl.
In His strength, you can be weak.

Let Him see you—
Bare bones.
The pain. The screaming.
Let Him hold you.
Kick against Him till you feel His arms.
Run as fast as you can.
Planted as deep as everything
That you could never have from me
Or anyone else.
Go away. Go,
Seek Him.
He’s waiting.

I’m saying this because I love you,
Not because I don’t.
But love is the opposite of codependency.
You can’t find it in me.
So run. He’s holding out His arms to you.
Can’t you see Him?
He wants to hold you so tight.
It’s what He breathed to me one night:
“My love is deeper. Better.
I weep over her,
Like my flesh is being torn again.
I love her more than you could ever.
Only I can fill her.
Trust me.”
He’s telling you to trust Him.
Please, trust Him.
He never ever breaks His promise.

A Poem I Think I Wrote

I need to write a poem,
Not because I need to.
Not because of scrolling words a non-existent audience needs to read.
Not because the music in my head is so loud, I have to bleed.
Maybe there’s a song in my heart or I want to plant a seed.
I’m bored at 10pm when I should be asleep.
I want to fill pages when I don’t know what I’m feeling.
Not the not knowing that means something’s wrong and the ink turns to goop.
But the still not knowing, when nothing is particularly wrong or right, and you’re just tired
Yet you know everything is wrong and right, and you just feel inspired.

Take out the notebook.
Is it just to fill pages?
Just to hear yourself think?
To spill ink?
To feel legitimate?
To stay up one more hour because you started it?
Or is there more?

Cuz yesterday you wrote a love song, then scrapped it.
You’re writing more because you’re learning to write when you’re happy
Or when you just feel normal–
Even though you know there’s no such thing.
Writing happy, normal, tired
(Anything other than sludge and slime and more goop)
Is a challenge.
But you’re ready.
Cuz that nonsense was normal for too long.

You’re tired of it.
Your general state is happy now–
When you don’t think too hard,
Or you think hard enough.
It’s a paradigm shift.
And the poems you write should reflect it.

Like you’re a different person,
But you’re the same you’ve always been.
You just like yourself better
And thank God for making you you–
And giving you a crazy, normal, wonderful life.
And friends.
And family.
And self-respect.
And all the things you can let go of.
Including poetry.

I Know You’re Beautiful

On a cabin bed—
Embraced by odd sheets and coverings;
My back sinking further down and deeper in;
Exhausted from the hours of trying to be someone I’m not,
Of forgetting to be someone I am,
Of guiltily peering at my inner-reflection when I remember
And forgetting again—
That’s when i know You’re beautiful.

The back of my mind wonders,
Or maybe it was added to the memory with time,
If Your arms surround me
Like the blue quilt I lay on.
If my earbuds rocking gently
Are really You whispering.
Or if I listened hard enough
Maybe I would realize that these songs
Were borrowed from the dearest friend You’ve given me.
And i would know You’re beautiful.

Thinking of my friend now,
I remember when we went to the ocean.
I scraped my knee and wanted to go home.
I felt You holding me then too,
But my problems were still significant in that room we shared.
I sank into Your arms, the sheets, when he prayed for me.
And i knew You were beautiful.

In bed, at night, I always feel Your arms.
But only in other beds.
Or on the couch,
Where I read The Praying Life
And learned that not all friendships are healthy—
Especially when you don’t really know the person on the other end.
Or if you don’t yet know yourself.
You knew me. And You were beautiful.

I listened to a song, a different song, the other night.
It reminded me of those songs I listened to in bed
At the cabin—
When I recalibrated,
Felt held,
And regained a sense of me.
My friend said it reminded him of me.
I wrote a poem about it,
But it wasn’t this good.
Now I’m writing
Because even when You’re not at the forefront.
When there are no stars or sunsets, rain or crosses, and i’m not thinking of Your blood…
i know You’re beautiful.


What kind of man should I be
To have all of you for me?
To win what I don’t deserve?
To love you with every word I breathe–
To the end of me?
A love that’ll grow this seed,
Instead of controlled by need.
To crave every girl that I see–
And give into all this greed.

I’m waiting for you to show.
God, shut me down when I say I know
Who will be with me.
I flirt like I’m sick of life.
I flirt with a brother’s wife, and I. . .
I won’t marry her.
The trouble I am inside.
I’m reading between my mind, the lines,

Oh, non-existent to my knowledge future wife,
I’m striving for an image, yours and mine.
Don’t get it’s just reflecting. I’m the bride.
It’s infecting, distracting, but that love’s already mine.
Lord, help me love her like she’s not mine.
All good things come in their time.
A three-day wait till desire dies–
Idolatry; plucked away from the lies.
My acceptance is not defined
By the type of girl I find.
Not the type of man she finds, in me.
Without You, we’re both blind.
Now we see.
So make us just an image of You.
There’s so much more than just my girl.
We’re a reflection of Your Word.
Make me know the real thing,
So the copy I make is as good as it could. . .

Good as it could ever be.
I want all of You for me–
You won what I don’t deserve.
You love me with every word You breathe.
To eternity.
A love that’ll grow this seed.
A love that has filled my need.
To crave more of You, I plead.
I’m giving You all my greed.

Help me grasp what You’ve shown.
To never feel I’m alone at all.
You will be with me.
Help me to trust You more.
Give all of myself away.
I hear You call, “Follow me.”
You’re giving me all I need.
Someday, You’ll give me
A girl.

Version 2