Psalm 365

Some days, God feels more like my pimp than my father.
Some days, I feel used up, beaten up, man-handled, consumed, track-marked, youth lost, real-love doubtful, faithfulness fantasizing.
Some days, I am wilderness wandering, upside down crucifixion, body sawn in half, forty lashes (minus one), limbs pulled off by horses, beheaded, starved, consumed by lions, naked, burned, burned, burned to death.

Only a dollar,
or two,
a life,
for such a pretty piece of glory for the ol' pimp to add to his collection.

My heart, my heart.

And then, some days, oh truth, most days, I am the greasy man with the small eyes and smaller heart, selling God off for pieces of peace. "Only a little rub here, and here, and you should listen to 'im sing, exactly what you want to hear."

Oh truth, oh God, oh Father, oh Mother, we keep asking, "How long?" meaning how long will you leave us here dying, meaning, how long will you leave us to ourselves?