father time

forgive me father, for i have sinned

for i have dug my own grave and lied in it, only to crawl and dig my way out once again

father, i do not know what to make of myself

father, im just not sure if i can do it

father, tell our lord that this test is too much

and i am not his strongest soldier,

and if there’s anything harder in my life then he should just strike me down now,

before i take matters into my own hands.

father, sometimes i lie in my grave and even dig deeper in hopes it’ll swallow me whole and i’ll never have to return to the surface,

and other times i wish i hadn’t made it at all.

father, why doesn’t god yet warn his subjects when they are but of clay that this is life and this is what you will endure and this is your suffering, and it is up to you to make the choice to live it or remain here and remain clay

father, could you tell me why my journals are filled with words and drawings and pieces and ideas and thoughts i cannot say so i write and can you explain what to do when it all finally bursts and they look at me and see who i truly am and maybe even prove them right?

father, what do i do when that happens? when the perceptions i’ve fought tooth and nail to disprove turn true?

father, when i take my life can you tell me how everyone looks? how they react? what they say? how they move on?

oh father, and lord, if you’re up there, i know,

i know there’s no space for me in heaven, but if you could,

please, father

make way for the suffering.

Halimah Fasasi