Honesty time....
God,
Your words just strip the flesh right off my bones.
They cut so deep.
The anger is simmering in a low boil, but the volcanic explosion is on its way,
like an unwatched pot of spaghetti sauce boiling over.
these days my palate bags me to exchange my latte for drip coffee and I diagnose my distress.
and my heart, the one that was just mending, is shattered like the microwave plate on a concrete floor.
we all know hearts aren't my strong suit--clubs are.
I thought for once that was finally changing, but the proof is in the cards and I've got a fist full of clubs.
And my back is aching carrying this weight, this heaviness, this boomerang baggage that gives me a limp.
And I'm mad at you God, straight up mad at you!
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