Holy, Holy, Holy
I think I always knew I was a little bit messed up in the head,
See with me being so quiet and all as a child
They’d look me in the eye
Say “Oh, don’t worry, dear, the Lord gives all!”
But if the Lord gives all, where is my happiness?
They look at me like an outcast
Just because of the chemical imbalance in my head
Their stares just scream at me, glance at me like I just
Didn’t pray hard enough
Talk about how the Lord delivers us through our storms
Sure, we all have storms in our lives
Yet it’s me who’s drowning in the flood waters
And sure, you can talk about yours and how Joshua 1:9 is the inspiration for our generation
But may I just ask you to grow the fuck up?
Yeah, storms will pass
But what needs to be understood is the wreckage it leaves behind
Stop talking to me like I’m a dumb adolescent who keeps getting into shit
Because if I’m the dumb teenager you’re the dumb adult who can’t keep their nose out of it.
Yeah, I couldn’t get out of bed for a week, congratulations
Thanks for my pointing out my ghost of humiliation
I think you deserve an award.
But what pisses me off the most isn’t the walk or the sad talk
it is the way you raise your hands at a song about strength and storms
And you act like you’re still in it when in reality I’m left alone with it
And your convincing words of laziness and self-destruction.
I couldn’t even look at myself for an entire fucking year,
Couldn’t look at any of my perfections.
Couldn’t appreciate my split-ends and stretchmarks and scars,
Couldn’t appreciate my my beauty or the gorgeous accidents,
Couldn’t begin to comprehend the amazing purposes.
No, instead I would just keep at it,
Keep at it until my nails broke down into pieces
And a scarlet stream begins to flow.
You talk about God and how my body is a temple
Holy Holy Holy is He, thine who could have spared me the fucking trouble
But allowed me to fucking suffer instead.