Yes, Lord.

I’ve been trying to avoid You,
And yes, because I’m angry.
I don’t want to sit in this place,
Stare at that room,
Because You’re going to say,
“Open it to me.”
As You watch my face.
But, I’m angry, Father!

Angry about ISIS and terrorism,
Arsonists, murderers and pimps.
Abusers, cons, and paedophiles,
People who do evil stuff to children,
Every step that led me here,
Trapped for ceaseless miles,
In a situation I didn’t create,
But pay for DAILY!

I’m angry about the cost of living,
And barely squeaking by,
Moody teenagers full of defiance,
No rice or beans or fresh anything.
Mostly I’m mad because sometimes
There’s no alliance to rebuild with.
Only echoes of silence.
I’m angry and I’ll call you.

I’m angry because I’m dying,
And the situation is so unfair,
I’m angry at the pain,
That never goes away,
I’m angry at being left out,
Like a drowning rat in rain,
I’m angry, no God, I’m furious.
Does me no better to say it.

If one more person tells me,
How brave I am or encouraging,
I fear I’ll scream, “Back off, I’m mad!”
Hurting someone’s feelings,
Who’s only trying to help me,
Right now we can say I’m sad,
But we know I have to let it go,
But, for now, I am angry, Father.

                      dfav 8/25/16

—Donna