Conversation With God

I lie flat on the table -______-

scrunched under my blanket

the purity of my pain

as the leaves fall off

and darkness appears longer

Why am I me Lord?

I’ll slither myself under

the bushes of protection

from visceral fire bred anger

brewing inside my psyche

carried onto the ground in tears

What’s my problem Lord?

You’re made in my image.

There is nothing wrong with you.

Are you sure about that Lord?

I’m an envelope of melancholy

as the temperature plunges,

I fall unto the heavens above

for soothing and mercy on me

to ease this annual climatic torture

My child you are who you are

I love you even as you’re depressed

You’re not flawed, you feel deeply.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

Don’t let the world brainwash you.

You are loved.

You are worthy.

Sincerely, God.

Thank you, Lord.

–By Maria Mocha

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