I’m not mad. I’m hungry for justice. There is a difference. Anger is a feeling. Hunger is a purpose. I think so much I’m tired of thinking. I think about the thought that I think and think about why I’m thinking about it. I feel trapped because all I can touch is what I see, and what I see on the inside of me hasn’t caught up in the natural world yet. I get lost on this journey, often wandering off. I get tired of wandering off and I get tired of being still. I make myself sick. I fill my mind with worry because I haven’t yet learned what to do with the empty space. Discipline lacking. I hate being alone and I love being alone. I need to be alone and I hate it. I fill space with people who keep me distracted, then cry because I’m distracted. I’m crazy.
There is a point in life that we all come to where we have to decide. Who am I? If you never attempt to answer that question, you will forever be blown by every wind that comes your way. Not me. I refuse to live and die a slave to my feelings. Not when there is so much more, so much more that I have the potential to become. My understanding at age twenty-nine is that life is hard. It’s unfair. It is impossible to achieve “success” without help, and there are invisible barriers in place to prevent certain people from rising above mediocrity.
There is a consecutive narrative being played that says what you see is all you can get. We are fed poverty, we are fed lack, we are forced to work and pay bills with no hope of advancing. We are sold images of beauty and wealth that keep us spending and buying into others’ dreams instead of living our own. Stuck on a never-ending hamster wheel of life, with no rescue in sight. Hopeless. What makes it even more heart wrenching is we possess the seeds to grow our own gardens of truth but are too blinded by despair to perceive this truth. Walking dead.
The Jesus who so willingly poured out His life in order to save ours is pushed into the background, while they replace His words with their own in attempts to control and manipulate the weak hearts. This will not go unpunished. “Feed my sheep, Queen.” His words echo in my soul.