confessions, from an old journal.

Confusion clouds my mind making

me blind,

Affecting the decisions I make good or bad,

but mostly bad—

So many problems, where to look, where to start, how to act—

girl problems, family problems, friend problems,

my problems.

Sleep eludes me, runs away from me, and I’m chased by the nagging thought of guilt and shame

and “what ifs”—

What if I had— instead of— would he have— would she have—

would I have?

Frustration builds inside like a volcano, wanting to burst out and say,

“It was me! This is the truth!”

But no—I keep it all inside,

sometimes I let it slip,

mostly to friends, some to family

never to authority.

No one knows it all—

some know a piece of me,

but no one knows it all—

except God.

No one knows about the mask I take

the one I fake.

to not get caught;

to not get rejected;

to not get punished;

to not get hated;

no one knows, though some might suspect,

no one knows—

except God.

Exhaustion takes me and I drift off to sleep, only to wake up again to the yelling of voices the screaming of children and the commands of my parents.

They think I’m a good kid

not a cuss kid, not a trouble kid,

not a scared kid, not a lying kid,

not a bad kid, not a lazy kid;

they think I’m a good kid.

They don’t know of my actions,

they don’t know about what I say,

they don’t know about what I think

and sometimes,

I think they don’t care—

But God is there.

I should but I don’t;

that is my weakness.

To ignore the call of the righteous,

to blatantly disobey and

to openly sin

in front of the eyes of my Father

and what’s more:

I do it again and again and again.

And no one knows—

except God.

 

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