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One thing after another. My hands are tired knees bruised Sometimes I’m ok. When I don’t pay attention to signs and spirits at play. But other times. I want to scream. I want to rip my skin from its connective tissues, clean off me. I want to play in traffic and play chicken with oncoming cars. With thoughts not mine of what’s the worst that could happen if I tried. Or if I was the superhero I dreamed about when I was a kid with nothing to dream, surely I’d save me from this. But no cape. Just another skin puppet, just a pissed miss. There, where I wanted to run. Where to. I’m trapped. No one cares. Whose thoughts are these? They aren’t fun
I want to scream why the heck am I here Just great. I confessed my sins first thing today. There goes that confession. I repented. Wasted away. Faith, we pray so I did the same thing again today. I sat on the pew knees bent boogers dripping down from my chin. Crying to him, if you loved us why allow me to constantly give in to sin My arms are sore from this prayer position. I’ve got lock jaw from counting all these blessings. Yet I’m still dragging my spirit face down through sharp glass, or as you call them lessons, with no fail or passing. Tap tap, uhem lord forgive me if I speak out of turn, but you made me in your image, remember? You created the good the bad the right the wrong, yet you tell us manipulation is wrong and temptation is not a sin If a sin is something that goes against what you believe in and I am in your image is your idea of a sin the same as a simple skin breeds belief on what that definition is I want to scream but you hear me best silent. You never say a word, still my faith growing that you preach inside me.

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