“Debris”

You say,

Be still.

Be very still.

I say,

But Lord,

the debris.

There’s silence; but the response is clear-

What debris?

How silly of me.

Of course you’d catch it.

Yet, I still hesitate.

You say,

I don’t need Performance,

But how will I know if I am enough?

How will I know how far to go?

You say,

I don’t need Popularity ,

But how will I grow?

How will I know if measure up without their input ?

You say,

I don’t need Possessions.

But how will I perform better?

How will I be better for others?

I miss being told what to do.

I miss expectations with a hard outcome.

Now, I have to guess,

to anticipate;

did I make the list today?

Now, I have to wonder,

to restrict; a diet but for living.

The only outcome: good enough.

Accepted enough.

Similar enough.

Likable enough.

Smart enough.

Perfect enough.

I’d rather run away.

I thought I had the luxury,

of running away.

Somehow,

it’s different as an adult.

It ceased to be cute,

understandable,

an emotional outlet.

No.

Now everything must be calculated.

You must know what to say, quickly enough.

You must know what to do, well enough.

You must know how to interact, relatable enough.

You must know how to act, happy enough.

Turns out there is no allowance,

when you are simply;

sad enough,

mad enough,

disappointed enough,

drained enough,

scared enough,

anxious enough.

I’d rather pretend away.

I thought I had the luxury of pretending,

Somehow its different as an adult.

Once interrupted its ruined.

Once disturbed, its never the same.

Once the bubble is popped, the illusion disappears.

I can tell you, what is the matter.

I can tell you, what the dream is, was, and will be.

I can tell you, the vision.

I can tell you, what is missing.

I can tell you, what is wrong.

I can tell you, why I’m crumpled inside.

I can tell you what you’ll find, once you drain the lake of my life.

Yet, I can’t tell you why.

I wonder myself, why?

if I have none of that

then I’m left with good enough anyway.

Good enough for you.

Why is it,

You won’t let me prove

I’ll be a good enough investment.

Why is it you refuse my proof?

When everyone else requires it so effortlessly?

How do I please you as nothing with nothing?

Yet, I’m little unless I’m something with something to others?

Why is it,

that People don’t matter in the estimate of who I am?

Why is it,

that what and when I do has little value to my worthines?

Why is it,

that what I gain, I display, is nothing at all to you?

You’re scraping my soul with your lack of requirements.

How can I prove it was a good choice?

How can I prove I’m not a waste of air?

How can I prove I see you?

How can I show I desire to honor you?

How can this scrap of life be enough?

Through Christ; you say,

more than enough.

More than good enough.

I still can’t understand,

but for once,

the scrape has a balm for my aching soul.

Why do you seek me in the depths?

Why in the heavens?

Why do you know my thoughts? Heavy as they are.

Why do you hold me in your right hand? As prone to running I am.

Why did you plan my days? For this waste of space.

Why do you know where I go? When I hide away.

Why do you care? When you have better things to do.

Somehow its a relief,

that

before I became life

you said

Good enough, I’d arrive.

And

Good enough, I’d stay.