Joy looks softly, what’s wrong for real?
You upset because you complained?
You’re human, honey.
That’s not all, I say, my bottom lip
turning down any request I made
with myself to remain quiet, unheard.
My eyes rain truth only an ungrateful
child speaks fluidly.
I don’t want to go home.
I say this holding a chicken nugget
to my mouth, as answer comes
I never know how to take.
Enjoy the time you have now.
I can’t. I cry, looking straight ahead
at the empty seat. On the right,
someone rises with compassion
open wide enough to engulf all
sorrow I have grown accustomed to,
even before I allow You to quiet me.
My Friend, I can’t enjoy Your
company, without thought,
He’s going away. He’s leaving you
He doesn’t love you. Why approach
His thrown with such a ridiculous
request: I want more of You. No
tears stroking my face. No sighs
making a liar laugh at my distress
waiting for you to shine bright upon
my face. I want to enjoy You on
earth, before I remark how my time
is gone with color photos of my
youth. Show me, Jesus, seventy
times seven, how much You delight
in me, Your small, weak, and needy
child, asking joy to become
accepted rather than wept.