Dear God,

I am not all those things you expected.  I am only me.  I swear to try harder today than I ever did, everyday I swear it.  I am sorry that often I don't.  Lord, I hope you are not grading on a curve or I am well and truly fucked. 

I wonder if you have emotions like me, if you will ever understand.  I did what I did with all those intentions, but later they just weren't the same.  Did you build me brash, and if so, how dare you be let down?

I wonder if men speak with your name, why you never did talk to me.  I want to know why starvation feeds the soul.  Is being filled or growth what matters?

There is always comparison, in interpretation so I ask: Do you know how very hard it is to be me, oh you, who have judged me?

I am so often left bewildered at reprocussions.  I change and adapt and grow.  But it is always just a hair too short, a bit too late.  Is this a lesson or a test?

Fuck you and the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine you shift the blame onto life with.  You may forgive me, but Lord, how can I ever forgive you?

Loves and Kisses,

Satan