How do you like your box, God?
I speak the words every day that keep you limited,
safe and sound in my mind, in my boundaries.
Trust me God, I know what’s best.
I know what I need, what I want.
You should just give me what I ask.
No, no, don’t strain yourself.
I know you said in your Word that you have good plans for me.
But look at these good plans I have for me.
If you don’t give me what I ask,
I’m just going to turn it around on you
and let the whole world know that you don’t keep your promises.
No matter that it was never one of your promises
to cater to my every desire
and make me happy.
No matter that my desires
are temporary and flawed and most mornings
I can barely even decide what I want to eat for breakfast.
I still know what’s best in the long run.
Maybe if you slap me in the face with some form of hard matter [Like a chair. Or one of those ancient, hippo-sized televisions.] that will do me good in the long run? Yeah, I’m pretty sure that would help.
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