angered by serenity

Sometimes I feel

as though reality just isn't real.

The makeshift mask I wear starts to peel;

my heart is open bait for others to steal.

It feels like God's holding me over a fire, burning at my heels,

watching me to see how much I can take, while I look like cooked veal.

What do you want from me?

Am I not enough?

Will I ever revert back to the real me-

one who is edged roughly?

I may never be accepted for who I am.

This I can relate to you.

And, You, the lion and the lamb,

faced so much more in ways that's truer than true.

I want to be loved.

I want to be successful.

I want to help others who are clubbed

for being alien-like, wearing a mask making them superficial.

I don't want to hear

the good news that you died for my tears.

I don't want to say

that You rose on the third day.

I don't want to tell others

that they can be my spiritual sisters and brothers

when I can't believe 

I have Your spirit inside me to achieve.

Fear squeezes my heart.

Denial pounds on my head.

Contempt runs through my veins.

I guess I never was the girl who You cleaned from the stains.

Ugliness blankets my face-

leaving an impenetrable facade with no trace

of hope.

Poisonous fumes cut through the denatured air

from my mouth leaving signs of despair.

If only they can see,

I am not the real me.

I don't know where she is.

I've been looking for her,

even attempted to see a wiz.

Dark circles encompass these eyes

from sleepless nights of trying to answer my "whys."

Entrapped in my own snare-

don't you try to help me, don't you dare!

For you will also get a glimpse

of hell on earth-

an inescapable turf.

If only everything around me can fade away

just for a countless moment.

Maybe I could rest;

maybe I could fly away.

I reckon all this junk is coming out,

even though I have no idea what I'm talking about,

is because I have let my mind overtake

my heart-

the element God made like an art.

I just want to come home

to breathe again

the paint You stopped using on me

when I ran out of the center of Your hand.

Like Pygmalion,

I don't want to be the creation

that rises up against the merciful Creator.

You didn't have to make me part of Your battalion.

I want to run back to you,

all chains unleashed.

Please open the door;

I can reach it!

It's no a mirage,

yes, I'm sure!

All this time!

You were there,

behind the foggy glass

helping me bare,

ever since that first glance.