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Dear God,
I am not all those things you expected. I am only me. I swear to try harder today than I ever did, everyday I swear it. I am sorry that often I don't. Lord, I hope you are not grading on a curve or I am well and truly fucked.
I wonder if you have emotions like me, if you will ever understand. I did what I did with all those intentions, but later they just weren't the same. Did you build me brash, and if so, how dare you be let down?
I wonder if men speak with your name, why you never did talk to me. I want to know why starvation feeds the soul. Is being filled or growth what matters?
There is always comparison, in interpretation so I ask: Do you know how very hard it is to be me, oh you, who have judged me?
I am so often left bewildered at reprocussions. I change and adapt and grow. But it is always just a hair too short, a bit too late. Is this a lesson or a test?
Fuck you and the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine you shift the blame onto life with. You may forgive me, but Lord, how can I ever forgive you?
Loves and Kisses,
Satan |
