I’m not thoroughly equipped. I’m not thoroughly equipped to deal with this. I’m not old enough. I’m not bold enough. I’m certainly not eligible enough.
I got no supporting cast. The days where I felt comfort have long since past. My own betrayal stabbed everything and killed all that I thought would last. Am I accountable? Am I held up to this? Is this your last wish before you call your servant home?
Just wondering. I’ve been thinking about what it is I’m here for what it is you got in store for this page, in this chapter, of this tale… that isn’t tall at all. My existence is pretty minute and small. Did I mention that I’m not capable? That I’m the "Cain" to your plans. I’m robbing from a man. Someone with real plans. Someone who is more "Able" than I truly am.
I hear whispers from people’s prayers and how they pray for their own stories delivery. The clever disguise as they look at my politely with their eyes. I think people’s expectations and standards for people are purely corruptive and political.
Who doesn’t envy the man with many talents? God’s a jealous God, but underneath everyone’s façade is a fixated, frustrated thin shell. They don’t know idolatry can cut loose utter hell. And people with big talents are purely exposed by others for political gain.
And everyone else wants to be for them and under them. If you are neither, well you’re nothing. Get with societies plans and on their page. People of today and tomorrow. Planners set the stage. So kiss up. This is all too political.
And I’m not trying to bash. I’m not trying to be too rash and be hardened to being petty. I’m petty enough on my own. I asure you that I too deal with all of life’s idolatrous groans. So please, let me be the first to drop my stone and leave this conscious effort alone.
After all who am I? I’m not eager enough to walk out the door, but boy, like everyone else I can implore. Let me drop some coins in the wishing well of everything. Everything vanishing with me feeling caged. I think its funny how coins rust with age. Let me share with you some memories. I have lots of em.
Let me write a book. Nothing too big or too amazing. I’m just star gazing. I can’t reach that far or become one. Do you notice me yet? Do you get that I might have something left?
I’m not seeing it. I think it takes a lot of faith to believe. If you can’t get up and move, age will walk all over you. Show me purpose. Something ever grander then the splendor in my eyes that I’ve been led to chastise. Show me real purpose that can sparkle.
No more trying to gage my worth, my talent, my power, my presence. No more trying to gage anything. Cause if I just live today it’ll be enough. Cause with my near sighted clarity, clouded up with all sorts of idolatrous stuff... that’s all I’m seeing.
So yeah, just today. Just these fond memories. Just this restless delivery. Not anything of mine, but everything, everything of yours. Can I rely, God, on just that? If I could be "purely" political, and be sold on no more sellouts and dropouts, no more big leagues. No more tall tales. If I could just cast them away I think, I think I would be set on believing in the you by what you do. Living truly and wholly because it’s what you wanted. God, I got to be for living you. When I do, I will be pleasantly surprised by how you manage, with little ole me, in how you pull through.
So may these eyes not look to the other man’s stories. So may this mind stop its unsound imploring. May my heart with joy start soaring. May my love start pouring. Start living. Start giving. Start being what being is really truly utterly about.
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