(p.s my religious trauma is coming out to play)
Jesus,
Grab my hand and pull me out of this hole I’ve dug for myself.
Dirt has been crusted under my nails for far too long,
And I’m weary and in dire need of rest.
Alas, I haven’t rested in years although I have nothing but time.
What will I do once words fail me, Jesus?
Will you love me as you created me?
As one of those rotted figs wriggling with worms beneath the fig tree.
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As a child, Jesus, I would pick up worms lying in puddles
The rain drew them from the soil,
Seduced them to drown,
And sometimes I wonder if that’s what you’re doing with me,
Flushing me out till I drown in all the things I cannot be.
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I’d scoop up the worms, each and every one, alive or dead,
And place them somewhere a little drier.
Now at 19, I still scrounge for worms, hoping to save them if not myself.
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Jesus, although I know I’m old now, some days I still wish for my child-like innocence,
But you stole that too.
I have nothing left to offer.
Jesus,
Will you still save me even if you don’t like what you see? Even if I’ve been used and discarded?
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Would you want me even if I’m too tired to pray?
I’ve spent my life praying, perhaps not hard enough.
Perhaps you punished me for my lack of faith,
But I was a child, and I didn’t deserve that.
As a child I loved you
As an adult, I’m still waiting for you to love me back
ns 15.158.61.5da2
