Sunday, January 23, 2011


My accent has never been indicative

of the location in which I was raised.

My tone inflections have lead others
to mistake my identity, at times
even my ethnicity, until such
time as they laid eyes upon me.

So perhaps when I prayed,
God didn't recognize my voice,
confused me with someone else
or the droning noise
of a demanding world
discomposed his comprehending,
as it seemed he confused my plea
for a "happy ending," to mean
each time I loved, I would
invariably thank God
it was "happILY

Certainly God could not have thought
that I prayed for this solitary
existence, that what I desired as
that happiness spanned such a short
amount of time. Or perhaps God
thought he knew my mind better
than me. Though I focus on
introspection, I've never really
got comfortable with myself
internally. So maybe God put
his plan into action rightfully,
without my consent nor my

Or perchance God didn’t want to
be responsible for my downfall
from grace or wrongfully thought
my heart was invincible, but his
faith in my strength was misplaced,
as I truly am not that strong.

They say you shouldn’t
question God’s plan,
but I confess, sometimes
I wonder if tales of his omnipotence,
failed to take into account that God,
like so many others,
simply didn’t understand
my accent.

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