I'm that record player that keeps going on,
Playing the same old, outdated song.
I'm sorry.
All my poems spout the same cliches now.
Hell, I'm the embodiment of those cliches now.
I don't know why I'm suffering from the disease
Years after my exposure to patient(s) zero,
But here I am, sick, bed-ridden and sleep-deprived,
Scratching sores I thought had long healed up.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I don't see colour anymore,
Just the monochromatic shading of decay.
I don't know how to pull myself back up again,
Can't remember how I did it the first time.
I was a ticking time bomb without even realising it,
And I don't even know if I've exploded yet,
Or if this is just the precursor, the countdown
To ripping apart everyone in my vicinity.
I'm sorry.
They say pain makes for the best artists, the best art,
But I'm too repetitive to make anything good.
Even the violent strokes of red have turned dark grey,
And they get darker the further down the abyss I go,
Where the darkness is so dense that light can't penetrate,
And I don't see the nightmares that have come back.
I'm sorry.

Thank you for seeing fit to making simple me wonderful and beautifully.
I've left you, walked away.
There were Times when I have forgotten to pray.
I cursed you when trials have come my way.
Forgetting that you were always right there for me.
Waiting with open arms so pure and holy.
This is what I call a true love story.
The Evidence is in your majestic glory.
Thank you God for eyes to see as I look around and take in your artistic creativity.
Look at The birds and the bees
Even The sun, the moon, the stars, and  the trees.
Thank you father for separating the land from the sea.
Thank you for sending Jesus to dying upon the cross so we might have life more Abundantly.
But more most Importantly
I Thank You God for loving little old me Unconditionally.
Thank God for who you called me to be.
A woman who's motherly ears hear the sound of her child's cry as thier life I bare.
Thank you Father for my ears so that when you call upon me your voice i will hear.
When I felt alone your presence filled the room to let me know you were always right there.
There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Even when I felt so far away from you you were always near.
Thank you catching the rivers flowing from my face called tears.
Thank you for these past 28 adventurous years.
Thank you bringing me thru the struggle,
You never gave up on me no matter how many times I would fall down or buckle.
Thank You Father for a mouth to speak.
So when I became weak I use this technique; I fuse my mouth and heart together so in you I will seek
To gain strength in my spiritual physique.
Walking with you I am constantly being critiqued but thats what sets me apart and makes me uniquely mystique.
Thank you Father for my brain so I can think.
Giving me the power to move my body and be able to blink upon instinct.
Together My brain, heart, and mouth become in sync,
Then the physical can develop into one link.

Being the black sheep of the family
Is all well and good until winter comes.
The grass is frozen, food is scarce
And those stomachs don't stop rumbling,
Ever wailing to be appeased,
Unaware and uncaring to the icy conditions.
They're not monsters, no.
They huddle together for warmth;
Snow dusting their coarse wool
As they stand, determined to make it through the cold.
But their stomachs scream like dying beasts,
And the ache is so prevalent in their empty bellies.
No fat to chew on, time passes by so slowly,
And that black sheep is starting to look like the odd one out.
It doesn't look like food,
But it does seem just enough like an other
To smother any guilt that may linger
At the bottom of a recently-assuaged hunger.
They're not monsters, no,
Because the black sheep was never one of them.