#modernfaith
White tees. Tank tops. Bare arms.
Thoughts trail backwards—
my thinking cap worn in reverse.
I reach for a verse.
...but my Bible
is well-dressed in dust.
Some days I wear faith
like a sweatshirt— soft at first,
until pressure pulls at every fibre
and I want it off.
Peeling pride from my chest
should feel freeing—
...instead, I feel naked
in ways fabric never fixed.
Rags & Expensive tags —
another kind of poor.
Time wears us all thin, while we
keep wearing life’s heavy clothes—
stitched with ego, tailored by fear.
Dressed to survive.
...quietly undressed by truth.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 2:38 PM UTC
Giving myself odd looks, while trying to even the score—
pointing out my faults like counting sins on abacuses.
Too many to tally, and every action I take I just hope
adds up to something. But I’m outnumbered by myself.
Feels like an inverted midnight— too heavy to be noon.
Doing the most, while barely praying at all— maybe
because doubt multiplies faster than faith settles.
Failures pile up like fractions with no common
denominator— just me, subtracting reasons to believe,
dividing purpose by disbelief, and hoping somehow
I’ll solve it all to find some peace.
Trying to count what I can still hold, not out-of-hand
habits or dust-covered promises. My Bible feels more
antique than answers— pages heavy with silence
until I wiped it off and saw… another layer still
hiding underneath. Like dusk, again. But this time,
_I opened it— and let it open me._
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 5:25 PM UTC