“I have a question.”
“Why is it that the more connected we are, the less connection we have for each other?”
“I...don’t really know.”
“Maybe....because they value phones and social media more than people?”
“I don’t know”
“Or....maybe they place their identity on them too.”
“I Guess.”
“I don’t really know.”
“What If.....the people in this world don’t actually know the ‘friends’ they are sitting beside in during recess or while hanging out.”
“Maybe....i mean, isn’t hanging out supposed to be about spending time with each other, directly, and not i guess, with their phones, or through their phones...is it?”
“I fear about the future.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, what if my children, or other people’s children...”
“Basically the next generation,”
“Ye, the next generation wont actually know what actual friends are, like being trapped in mechanical boxes with those weird things on...what is it called? Oh right, VR headsets. And then they live in those boxes.”
“I don’t know....”
“I just want people to talk to each other, WITHOUT their heads down on the phone and eyes glued to the screen....like the kampong days...”
“Maybe...”

Maybe......

lead me into your presence Lord.
use the real me.
i give you this shell LORD!!
Take this hollow, fake, ritualistic shell i have!
use the REAL me!
enough of the lies, the hate, the anger, the stress, the anxiety, the distractions, the rituals, the repetitions!!!

break this shell, and i PRAY IN YOUR NAME, that it would never, NEVER come back!!!!
i am tired of this fake me.
this ritualistic me.

use me.
the real me.
mold me.
the real me.
not the shell.
not the shell that made that space for the voices to fill in like the spaces in Russian dolls.
no, not ever.

Night comes in, protection strips thin.
Frail fingers held the cages closed.
And with just a slip, the monsters come out.
And, they aren’t me.

Just keep it in.
Keep them slit in.
And i sit, thin.

Again and again I go back to it.
To its slimy and suffocating grasp.
It’s clawed grip on my heart.

Why am I not committed?
Maybe a part of me likes this world I am in.  
Maybe a part of me likes how broken the world is.
Maybe a part of me doesn’t want the world to get better.
My spirit and flesh is weak then who can I fight with and against?


Don’t let me go there again....o please.
I want to be led into that promised land.
What if I can’t make it?
What if I am not perfect.
Not the perfect leader...the perfect child of God.
Why am I stressing?
Can’t
      B r
E a the.

Oh the pain of the grip on my heart.
It’s claws digging deep.
It’s claws crushing it.
Can’t
B r E
A t
H.      E....

Ignored again.
I ignored again.
Again, I missed your texts and calls.
Your smiles and tears, and your breaking heart.
So empty when i text you ‘sorry’
It seems to lose its meaning.
And guilt claws and tears its way in me.
I can’t seem to make you believe my apologies.
Then time starts to walk again, healed from the storm.
Then there’s this space between my heart and that blank, black text.
Then there is this unreachable truth to get to you.

My hands clawed through, my eyes tearing me, my head going black. No. It wont go there if i allow it.
It’s just a text.
Don’t be so emotional, geez.
Hm.

I was dying.
Wasn’t even trying to survive.
I was fading and withering away as I lived.
And I didn’t even know.
Didn’t know such things are still relevant today.
About what Jesus did before I even came to be.
So ignorant.
How foolish and stupid I was to think I deserved and earned this love.
I didn’t care about him.
What he did.
I didn’t seem to know his love was so deep.
He died. For a criminal like me.
He knew me.
And I didn’t even know him.
Or recognised who he was.
I never even knew him before I was born.
We stood in front of the angry crowd on that day.
they demanded to free me.
And they let me live.
Jesus died.
For me.

stop using your freedom as something to cover-up the evil you are doing or have been doing.
its like using a song filled with life to cover-up death.
what. a. waste.
what a pity that such a thing would be used so wrongly.
its so selfish and evil, to make use of this free gift that Jesus suffered persecution, mocking, being looked down upon, being called a demon, and to die to give to you freely, to use it to cover it up for the knives you placed on someone's back, or the bullet you shot, with the body in a sack.
what a shame.

what a shame.

why don't you use that freedom, when the chains are gone, to give God what he deserves. All respect, All honour, All praise, All worship, All you have.  Your life.  And use that freedom to share the Gospel, so that Jesus could free their chains too through you.

its a shame many, many of us, and even me, would do such a thing.
forgive us Lord.
we have forsaken you, and abandoned you...