I Pray by Candice Sewell

Wed, 08/28/2013 - 16:02 -- AkiraD.


The cuts on her wrists and the warmth of her hello do not match.

The tattoos on his biceps, don’t match his morals.

The images she portrays with her G-String and her long auburn hair.

Don’t match the Sunday school picture she took ten years ago.

I pray that they find themselves underneath the person that they are not.

I pray for the true individual beneath it all.

Because, the puzzle pieces don’t fit and the portrait doesn’t look like you.

And your inner being is like God, you’ve never seen it but you know it exists.

I pray for the individual who still doesn’t know that there is a song for everything.

But you cannot live your life throughout others words.

I pray for the Based God who compares himself to a man that died at the age of 35 to save us all.

Because the Base God will not die for you.

He will entitle a song after you.

And swears that he knows you, inside and out.

I pray for the individual that has forgotten what the sun looks like because of all the loud packed haze they surrounded themselves with.

And the individuals who are souled out and their thoughts linger with Mary Jane’s and sometimes she promises good thoughts and others unfocused behavior.

Because to you Mary Jane is what makes you feel different.

It causes a metamorphic change within your spirit.

And colors your lungs black.

And pops brain cells as if they were bubble wrap.

I’ll pray for the girl who will allow some boy to slap her around all in the name of love.

And she swears that his love is like God you know he loves you because it shows.

And her love shows in the bruises underneath her eyes the blue black- purple ring around her neck. And she’ll do anything for an apology, and an I love you.

I’ll pray for the baby being carried by a teen mom.

That thinks that having a baby is some glorified sitcom that MTV Shows.

I’ll pray for the teen dad that left his head exposed and allowed it to be filled with an artificial hug from a wannabe mother. That has trapped him with a child, and still no real motherly love.

And he swears her sex is like talking to God, because when he speeds up his stroke he starts talking in tongues.

And God tells him that he isn’t making love.

But he comes before God can tell him that he can provide for him.

And give him everything he needs.

I pray for all the individuals that have forgotten who they are.

And I dare you to ask yourself.

Who am I?


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