Dear Devil, I Hate You

Here, I sit rocking

worried whispers making a way

down my silenced heart. You should

call and check. Do what you’re

asked, before I bury you with much

guilt. Enough to taste dirt when you

swallow. Oh what, you going to cry

again? Baby. That’s what you are.

Such a child. Daddy says, wait and

be still. You don’t get anything

accomplished by watching leaves

fall. You need to be productive,

even forceful if you want to be

successful. Don’t you want that?

You’ve made, what, maybe five

dollars from a book that will most

likely never be a best seller. Not with

seven pieces of your insane cries for

Jesus to come hold you. Show His

face to you. Look in your eyes and

tell you: Darling, you don’t have to

try so hard to make me love you.

I already do. Always have. Always

will. You are living in a fantasy world,

if you think for one second you can

get through this life waiting on

someone you can’t see. You know

how well that worked out with your

first real “love.” Didn’t he say you

could put anything into words? Buy

all your books because money was

not an issue? Love you forever &

always, as you sung along with

Taylor Swift? Or that night

he pointed to your heart, saying:

I love you and only you. And you

cried? No wonder he left. How do

you know He first loved you is true?

Sure, He died on a cross, bleeding

so you wouldn’t have to believe

these condemning stones I am

bruising you with. Black & blue

is better looking on you anyway.

He denied my gift to give Him

all of this broken earth, my request

to turn stones to bread, or be lifted

high by angel embrace.

He told me to get away, to love Him only.

Man cannot live on bread alone.

Do not test Me.

What kind of love is this, if you can’t

offer gifts or ask questions?

Shouldn’t you see His glory?

You can’t see good, so how will you

know these plans are prospering

if He never shows His face?

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