This is not wild living.
This is confinement,
contrapment,
concealment;
I hate this.

And I waste away sitting in my waste
breathing in this smoke
staring in this sink
letting tick this clock
I waste.

For the time is now.
Always
the time has been now
and I see much more clear
as I sit in this four-walled cell.

For the challenges are sure,
big, brisk, brutal
quick, alive
well,
breathing, humming
and sometimes
the saddest
cruelest
seemingly most unfair challenges of all.
(But they are clear).
God is fair.
He is clear,
fair, next to me,
not weary
though I am weary—
a waste as of now,
a tired sometimes
withered up sham.

He never is.

I am close to absolute lost,
brokenness, evilness,
despair, disrepute
and I am discouraged
but I have NOT given up.

I wonder how
as I sin every moment right in His face
and know I do wrong how He still calls me daughter?

Father.

I wonder,
but I do not doubt.
I am amazed
but I still believe.
I am completely
out of this world undeserving
and yet I am so grateful for His love.

Can it be real?
Oh, it is real.