↪ i beg him, help me - scribbling words
so i asked to god, why am i so awful? how is it that i am yet another one of your followers but everything detestable is so imbued within me? even from the way i behave to the way i disguise excitement into things that aren't good, why is it all so ugly?
i tell him, why have you made me so ugly?
i cry to him hoping another tear on the velvet carpet of prayer will make me a better person, they will advert me from hurting the people i love, and they will speak to me and tell me that it's hurting me because i care.
but is it that way? god has kept me so deluded that i do not know whether the hurt i feel is a blessing or a curse, or a saccharine pain of all the love i haven't emancipated.
maybe its little seashells that get lost in the tides of waves, or maybe its the little reminders my sister left all around her remainings, or maybe its the equation i could not solve, or maybe its the pressure, the words, the force of something invisible that pushes me to adapt to the world, that kicks me and throws me till i'm barely scraping the floor, but still going forward.
i don't know if that's a blessing or a curse, or if that's how you realize that the world goes on with or without your consent.
so i ask him again, i tell him under my tear-stricken, abhorrent voice, why have you made me so ugly?
i beg him, help me, help me, help me.
but screaming "help me" in bold letters at your wall does not help me.