naked.

If some how there was a way to bellow an anguished and enraged guttural cry on paper…

Oh God! Father!

This is a cry of desperation, of being torn in two

Not by pain, but by remorse,

No, something far more naked than remorse -

Repentance.

(Inside I roar)

What is the price to pay when you play god?

When you begin to believe that you are the instigator,

That you are the one to move?

What consequences do we have to endure?

Father! Father! What trouble has seeped in and poisoned?

(The roaring turns to wailing)

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I. don’t. know.

I don’t know the answers to your questions.

I don’t have the power to tame my own mind and body.

I am not god.

Oh God, I am not You.

I hear those whispering conspirators.

They slowly sink in their dirtied, ragged nails into skin

Drawing first blood

Or maybe second and third.

What do I know, Father?

Tell me again.

Or do You need to

When You’ve burned it into the back of my eyeballs,

In the pit of my stomach,

In the curve of my breast,

And in the expanse of my lungs.

(I breathe)

What words do I have to capture the enormity of, of You?

And all of those attributes that in reality are far more vast than the word,

But have become to us, to me, so small, so pixilated?

“I am nothing - how could I ever find the answers?

I will cover my mouth with my hand.

I have said too much already.

I have nothing more to say.”

Something’s missing.

“I had heard you by the hearing of the ear,

but now my eyes see you.”

(Inhale)

You.

(Exhale)

Thank you, thank you. Oh God! Thank you.

Truth, it seems, likes to be bold,

naked,

and simple.

Yet deep.

Utterly opposite of who we now are.

How are you liking your fig leaves?

Maybe that’s why we find truth so hard to trust.

Said with longing and a breathy release, "Oh redemption."
My God, my Christ,
thank you for re-taking this skin.

It feels so good to be clothed in nakedness.