“I write because it allows me to express what I’m truly feeling on paper. Writing has always been a part of my life, and I’ve used it to pursue my identity in Christ. I love inspiring people to live for Christ with spoken word, creating intricate pictures with storytelling, and deep thoughts with poetry.” - Dahlia


Mirror, mirror on the wall. Will I stand, or will I fall?

Will I hear you when you call? Mirror, mirror on the wall.

God, you are the up-lifter of souls, filler of gaping holes that are void of the joy you deeply want to give.

You are mender of the broken, sender for the lost.

At the cost of everything you had you lent, for the veil between us to be rent.

You, God, are the I am that I am, and you have always been.

And because you are, you will be forevermore.

Hand outstretched beyond a sea of open doors.

So why did I run?


I confided in thoughts that I thought were my friends.

They took whatever they could sell, broke anything they could not have.

All the priceless things I had, I had no idea they existed.

I was dropped at the feet of the enemy and left for dead.

I couldn’t identify my life with Christ, I was lifeless.

Adversaries tortured me behind grey lines, ISIS.

They declared the execution of my Faith, Christ-less.

Opened gates releasing idols meant to confuse and silence.

Yet somewhere inside, still this poor woman cried.

And God’s mercy showed up at my broken side.

When I finally let Jesus in, I was cured from being blind.

It was truly the day that I died, SIN number replaced with the ability to rise.  

Heads turn in the underworld, and they’ll put our names up for death.

But our SIN number was replaced with eternal life in our breath. Order in our steps.

Heads turn in the underworld, and they’ll put our names up for war.

And we’ll stumble, and fumble, and bleed, but God holds the final score for our eternity.


So, I asked God, WHO ARE WE?

And when I looked in the mirror I saw something I didn’t think I’d see.

Unclassified, unidentified, unknown genetic makeup.

Mutations discovered, limits uncovered, and potential unaccounted for.

DNA of a remnant with origins not understood by bread alone,

But by the mind and words from a patient cornerstone. 

We are a generation called The Unashamed.

Mirror image to the shameless who prefer to blame,

Accommodate and desensitize all things insanity and vain.

The grace in our veins pumps the epistles in our chests.

Our song is the very war cry that condemns death to die.


God still has plans for us, this remedy will just take some time, we will rise. We will rise.

We will rise from our ashes. Receive beauty for these lashes.

Healing for every stripe. Peace of mind for every sleepless night.

Painful tears we will wipe because we fight the good fight.

Demons will be slain with every hand held high. Walls will crumble down with every sin denied.

Victory is still on our side because God is not a man that He should lie.

He proved his love for us when He performed the death we could not die.

Jesus, we run to you, we run to you, we run to you, our Master and Peace.

Mirror, mirror on the wall. Mirror, mirror on the wall. Mirror, mirror on the wall.

Writer's Bloc