Dear God,

I came here today wondering if you have a plan for me.

Do I stumble through for nothing?

My fault, or yours, or somebody else’s?

Should I grasp at the rafters of the future

or fall into the mirror with those lazy drifting mists

of me who I cannot know who I cannot force

whoicannotcontrol.

And if me who I can control – 

What about everyone else?

Is it 

right 

to try?

 

They tell me to relax, that no plan is FINE

So I ask you:

Do you have a plan?

Cuz it seems like I really shouldn’t –

so who then?

Paradoxical:

a scratch on time’s CD

a question with only one answer that seems to have…

two. 

Dear God,

doievenknowyou’retherehowwouldiknow?

 

They tell me you have a plan even when I don’t.

Especially when I don’t.

That I’ll feel peace, but all I feel are walls, 

coming closer and

crushing

my ribs

to fine powder.

I can repeat it all back to myself,

I can desire for the release --

and at the same time I can be 

more afraid 

of the fall

than of 

anything

else.

Well, the rafters have splinters and my hands are sweating. 

My fingernails are falling off.

Chapped lips brush marble and inside I feel writhey and cold,

both at

the same

time.

 

Talk about a paradox.

 

I don’t know who you are.

I don’t know what you are.

I’m only starting to realize what you mean to me and so the only thing I can ask,

here at the prie-dieu on the creaking floorboards of my

stupidoverthinkinghead is –

Do you really have a plan for me?

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