No.177: Have You Ever Wondered Why They Call the Sabbath Holy?

Everything is crumbling, for 
better & 
for worse, 
and the seeds that I’ve 
sown are 
mine to reap but
all I see is
my fatigue &
questions &
I’m standing up straight but
my faith couldn’t be more crooked and I
just wanna do better but the
other me is so difficult to 
put down so
the wolf inside is my
defense, but it 
needs backup & I’m 
tired of defending myself from me &
everyone else at
the same damn
time.

If only they understood that
I’m not tryna be fearless, 
I’m just tryna fear 
less, sleep 
more, eat
green, love the
poor, be
meek, let myself
breathe.

I don’t need to be the King, 
I’m just a man made for 
peace, built by war, the monkey 
in the middle 
is my pandora’s box,
those two doors hold my
daily thoughts, 
& I just want freedom from my 
eyes. They hunt for the daily
thot, like the Spirit don’t sit & watch 
with me, it’s madness, my
malice — it destroys before it kills,
I know I’m saved but
the wounds take their rations, 
drink their fill before they 
heal, & I just sit there like 
the monkey in the middle of
Satan & Savior like 
a soul stuck in
purgatory waiting for his
papers, I am but a 
vapor compared to the man I 
should be. I complain more,
work hard, work dumb, eat sweet, make lust,
you know, If I was God, I would
pause my lungs & see 
if gratitude finds my tongue, or if 
granted is how I take life 
to the grave, what a waste, if the blood that saves 
can’t help me maintain in
the face of my sin then
what is 
the point of
the grace?

If the work is 
too much for
one broken boy 
to handle 
on his own, then 
why not 
run with the wind, 
at a pace that
doesn’t take the concept of rest
lightly?

You know what they — or tbh, what I — say:
a broken body,
is just a tattered psyche
come out to play.

Cover Photo by Blake Cheek on Unsplash