Maturity is consciously choosing and enjoying the dopamine of getting things done, rather than the temporary comfort of avoiding the things you must face.
Maturity is consciously choosing and enjoying the dopamine of getting things done, rather than the temporary comfort of avoiding the things you must face.
Just because I’m posting about God doesn’t mean I’m healed or better than you. I’m still a sinner. I still struggle. But everyday His grace picks me back up.
It is what it is though, peace be still. Today I come clean and bare this for you, I’m sorry Pops, to you and to all that care for me. I’ll smile and laugh when called upon, to be a better man if God allows me, surrendering all I am and think I know to his power.
I’d love to sit with and share where I am in life, my dreams and plans for the near future Pops. Everything feels more intense and in disarray. I’ve been carrying a weight so heavy, I’m always running! From the pain, the fear, the hurt, the scars, and I wear a smile every day
I’m hurt, I’m broken, and I’m undressed. I seek forgiveness and attornment for my sins, shortfalls, and naivety in even putting this here, but I don’t know who else to talk aside from God, and to me you’re the same thing. I’m trying to play the game and rewrite the almanac
But it’s either that or insanity, and let the vain replace my arteries just to let my heartbeat. Many people won’t look at me the same ever again, some will even think I’m playing victim, but it’s You I’m talking to Pops, is there space to be vulnerable and not forge steel?
I know nothing lasts forever, nothing at all. Everything is temporal, but for the way that woman loves me I am here today. Barring my naked truth so I don’t drown in shame. Sometimes I swallow myself in swallowing my pride, and die a little everytime I kill my ego.
I often ask myself when driving ‘home’, what if something happens and I die today? Is that when they’ll say the nice things about me and when they give me flowers? I know mum would be devastated, not even a grandchild to smile upon, just the memory of a half baked son.
Being an Artist chose me, that’s the path God spoke to me about in a language and vice I could finally hear. What am I supposed to do? That’s where my peace lies, and where I can’t hide the truth, but times are real Pop, no one’s cares for peace, it’s always fleeting
What makes a man? The virtue in age, grey beards that are sprouting out of my chin? The decisions I make to stick with the plan while everyone around me thinks I’m crazy, stupid, and gullible because I laugh at everything?
I used to be a jovial kid when you were around, I feared nothing because my hero was present, and even after you weren’t, it always felt like you’d come back. I’m your age now when you and mum’s moved to the big city, and often think wtf am I doing with my life
I confess my sins, those of lust, envy, jealousy, deception and greed. No longer standing behind the tag of ‘I’m human’. It’s true what they say, there’s no rest for the wicked and maybe that has befallen me, though in denial.
I’ll never know what’s said and done behind my back, that’s why it was never in my face. Nor will I ever truly have control over the outcome of anything as in life options will always be several, therefore I surrender. Dear God, I’m your son too
I’ve been greedy, wrong, and selfish. I have punished those around me, those who cared, those who were loyal and those who love me. The world doesn’t owe me shit for the piece of shit I am, but still my offering is that of apology.