#152

You're doing it on purpose, right?
Lord God.

My prayers get denied.
Over and over and over and over again.
Night after night after night.

You hear me beg.
You hear me plead.

I even got scolded.
I was told that I must prove worthy.
I was told that I must do things the hard way.

Isn't my soul already having enough?

I know I'm going to hell one day,

but should hell already start here
on Earth?

There are far worse souls than I am,
but why are they more well-off?

I am surrounded by people who make me jealous.
I try so hard not to be,
but how could I not?

When already my weary soul,
pathetic as it is,
is burning from the inside.

I know You haven't forsaken me,
Lord God.

Yet what You give me feels too short.
As if miracles and blessings
were far too scarce
to grant me what I wanted.

If what You give me is what I need
to grant strength unto my poor soul,

isn't it the other way around?

The more I pray,
the more I plead,
the more I beg,

the more doubt gets cultivated in my heart.

And these seeds torment me
and break me apart—

asunder, not from limb,
but from what I want to believe,
from what I want to have faith in.

I—

I really want to have faith in You.
Really.
Truthfully.
Honestly.

I don't know.

Maybe I'm just scared of the hereafter.
That's why I'm trying.

But—

Tell me, Lord God,

am I not good enough?

What should I do?

I need You.

Really.

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