How do I let You in?
Your people have taken
Something dear from me
And I feel so forsaken.
It wasn't much, to them
I never really thought about it
But when it was gone
I was in so much pain I wanted to quit.
Everytime I want to reach for You,
I have a ration moment, and look
To Your people, your demented minions
And reach down to feel what they took.
I feel it in every movement,
Every step I take, every time I feel
That sharp, fiery pain through my side
My health, they had to steal.
I can't reach out for You.
You'll make me like them, cruel
Mean, self-centered, self-righteous
And ultimately a denial-obsessed fool.
Will you make me be like Centaurs,
In denial and obsessed with Earth's end?
Or will I become my mother,
Whom me, she never did defend?
Will I be like my father,
And focus upon fiction?
Will I be my brother,
Who has a church spotlight addiction?
I don't want to lose another,
I need what I have left.
I don't want to be this pathetic,
But I'm surrounded by 'the best'.
Your people scare me.
They hurt me so bad
Call me a wuss, but I'm scared.
Also, and this makes me mad…
They don't answer my emails.
They don't help me out.
They make a big show
And coo and sigh and shout
But in the end, they ignore
Me, what happened, the pain
As if by saying it didn't happened
They wish it out of existence forevermore.
I'd like to let You in.
Truly, really, I would.
The thing is, there are three
Reasons more powerful than why I should.
Sorry.
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Author's Note: In case you have not read my craptastic profile… Three thingsthree ribs shattered so bad by the good, loving Christians of my town that they had to be removed.
Centaurs is a reference to Dreams of Centaurs, who lives in Sugar Land where everything is crystal-based and sparkly and all Christians are perfect.