Whatchamacallme: I wrote this when I was extremely angry with my parents and I felt like there was no real point to life. This is more of a conversation between me and God (or what I think he would've said) than a story or poem. I'm over it now, and I'm okay.
Relax and Read! Do not review on this chapter! Review after you read the next chapter, please! Thanks!
I Cry Out
My Lord, My Lord, why did you create me?
I do nothing right,
My parents prove it every day.
My father yells at me when I forget a small detail;
He yells at me when I don't know what he wants;
He yells at me when I try and I can't.
I do nothing right.
My mother rebukes me when I forget;
She rebukes me when I don't know;
She rebukes me when I've done nothing wrong;
I can do nothing right.
Abba! Why did you create me if I can do nothing!
My Child, you can do things.
But Abba!
I try and try,
But I fail!
You can draw, Little One.
To what purpose?
I draw Anime to what purpose?
I have committed my life to your work!
There is no room for drawing in that field!
You can play music, Small Child.
To what purpose?
I play the flute to what purpose?
Sure, I can play in Music Ministry,
But to what purpose?
Daughter, Glorify me.
But you took away my Joy!
I no longer play Bible Bowl;
I no longer play in a Band!
You expect me to glorify you!
Trust me.
Trust your!
I have nothing!
I am nothing!
What am I to trust you with?
My pocket lint?
No, my Small Daughter. Trust me with your Life.
Whatchamacallme: Oh, how 'bout that, it tells a lot about me! Oh well... If you don't like this, please don't bother to review. NO BASHING! This is a personal poem.