Confession

I believe the fire is reserved for me
No way around it
It's hard to break free
From the terrible truth
That I'm not who I seem
And the life that I live is not all
Peaches and Cream,
But anger and lies
Both big and small
And cravings that contrast
My Heavenly call,
and there's no way for me
to accomplish it all:
To be faithful and gentle and truthful and calm
To be kind and be generous and patient and strong.
And I sink with the pressure
that I feel from above.
So instead I confess it,
And hope for the best
that when it's all over
that I pass the test
And all of the worrying
And all of the striving
Was a very good effort
But unnecessary writhing
cause all that I needed was to confess with my lips
And believe with my heart that I'm a piece of shit
And that I needed a Savior who could clean up my mess
And that he would accept me and love me
And take care of the rest.
(Funny enough I know this to be untrue
because Jesus himself said,
"I don't know you.
If you don't do the things I say to do,
you're a stranger to me,
And I to you.")