Lord,
you dont talk to me like she does
your eyes dont cut
your tongue doesnt scathe
or tease,
or disappoint
you dont sound like them
those who deride, and those who scoff
with their mocking, and carousing
and value judgements and estimations of self worth
loathing everything I have ever done
jealous
and discontented
your words are more arousing
penetrating to the depths of the spirit inside me
emboldening, reaffirming
even soothing, even carrying my weary soul
to the mansions in your father's house
I hope it has a soft bed
and fluffy pillow to lay my head
so I can fasten my eyelids and dream of better days
and rest my sore back
because you dont deny love (ever)
because you dont turn down affection
when its cold, your word is warmth
it is a tissue consoling tears of rejection
strength from fear
lips to kiss and someone to hold
it is a quiet night, pensive watching my breath
as I exhale
because I dont need Jennifer
The words of the LORD are pure words: as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times. (Psalm 12:6)
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