Unworthy


I am a fool- no, not even that- I am a dingy piece of trash in the gutter. Fighting the filth, unsuccessfully scrubbing while wallowing in it. Yet you pick me up with a gentle hand as if a loving mother. I do not deserve nor have I ever this grateful giving grace you show me. How shall I repay or what shall I give? I ask -so reminiscent of the ancient psalmist poet.

I wish I could say that I will give you perfection, for that is what you deserve but I cannot, am not, capable of such despite my good intentions on this beautiful road so paved with them. My wounded psyche wonders… Am I on the highway to hell or simply standing still watching pretty pictures as they play within my head?

Never really moving at all- not going anywhere – let alone nowhere. Only displaying these hopes and dreams and night terrors on to this projector in my mind. Where shall I venture to today? Perhaps memories of a greater, grander, simpler time? When, I ask, when was that? Side note: If I’m watching, who’s running the projector?

I lie here in the aforementioned proverbial gutter- gully of waste from my most inner me- glancing at the other runners in this race of life. (Yes, I’m clearly mixing my metaphors- here and there and everywhere such as my mind, scattered.) Some faster. Some slower. So lovely. So ugly. None of them me. Some nearly carbon copies.

*Sigh* I’m not as unique as I once thought. Why do you notice me? Why should you hold out your helpful hand to me with such kindness from your pedestal arrayed in raiment white, my dear doll near divinity? I am nothing and you are the world. Sometimes I am but a speck, a needless mark on the board- yes, I’m mixing again- other times I think more, yet at all times I think myself

Unworthy.

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