Rigged before you're born, yet there's always a celebration

No input or contribution from me, the creator a sole proprietor

If I could, if I could, let me just say my mind

"only a fool utters all in his mind" I know that proverb very well

Straight from the scripture, yes! Solomon's wise words

But please...please...

please...let me speak...let me release some of the burdens 

lest I burst in anguish.

Literally I must add

If I could have a word with him,

I mean the one who made all this, Elohim,

I've known him as El-roi cause he sees me,

Through bad decisions and choices unpleasing,

Ashamed of my turns and moves, I should know better.

But what good is knowing when it doesn't get better?

The happenings and events I mean,

What good is knowing when the results feel like Mahmood was in charge?

If I could really talk to him, face to face I'd opt for,

I need to see him look at me with an expression that says "I'm done for"

Not the whole sign and intuition I'm supposed to look out for.

I'm sorry I suck at understanding signs, 

I didn't attend a special needs school,

But in the school of pain, anguish and hurt, I'm a repeating student

Going from one class to another, Only to encounter new levels of this sorrow

I should be used to it by now, master it,

That's the whole point isn't it?

I mean this school.

If he could really let me talk and not judge me...yet!

Let me speak of all the times I had to sleep in a pool of my own tears,

Let me rant about the times I felt so inadequate I wanted to end it.

"Be strong and of good courage" I've recited it as the bad kept happening,

"I'll never leave you or forsake you" had been on a loop in my head

Playing while I had to deal with one new level of disgrace.

If he would allow it, I'd like to ask him "Why?"

Why make me so "special" yet so insignificant?

No! I'm not referring to fame or power type of significance!

Why make my voice so strong and beautiful, yet so low and powerless?

Why fill my mind with so much creativity and power, yet so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things?

What is the point of so much talent, zest and passion with absolutely nothing?

I should be grateful, I know. 

But where does one find the energy for gratitude whilst plunging into a bottomless abyss?

If I could, I'd tell him I'm sorry to his face though,

I'd tell him I'm sorry for choosing to do wrong,

For choosing to survive the way it seemed possible when all hell was breaking on me,

For choosing to live the way I know how to in order to drown the pain,

For choosing the easy way out when the tough way seemed not to end,

For choosing even if it was a glimpse of happiness in a cauldron of darkness.

If I could talk to the people in wigs,

Those who hold their gavels firmly, ready to pronounce a sentence,

"hang in there!" they keep yelling

"The best is yet to come!" they cry out

"hope is what keeps us going" some even brag

"You're stronger than you think" they whisper

"God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers" they announce

"It's part of God's big plans" they keep repeating

But how many would take their own advice

Or words of motivation as they call it

If they walked my path.

If I could talk to him, face to face Not through some medium crafted by who I know not,

Not through anyone or anything,

Just me and him, chairs facing each other

Eyes locked for eternity, time frozen just so he'd listen,

Attentively I must add,

Cause my voice seems to drown 

In all the many wailing voices, 

Voices screaming and crying out for help too.

My face...oh my face...hmmm!

My face seems not to be noticed amidst the myriad of dark skinned chubby faces,

Although my tribal marks should distinguish me,

Six distinct lines marked on both right and left cheeks,

But I guess I'd have to be more

Do more for him to see or hear me.

If I could really come boldly like he promised I could,

Not for mercy or grace this time,

Cause I don't feel deserving of either,

Come boldly just to ask him a few questions.

A few questions tugging at my insides, threatening to rip my mind to shreds,

Questions I wish he would answer,

Questions some would even refer to as blasphemy,

But I'd rather they are innocent ones asked a father by his daughter.

What if?...just what if?

What if all I want is just a simple life?

What if the crow from the rooster, was thrilling,

The smile from a loved one,

A room filled with their reverberating laughter,

The tenderness and warmth a hug brings to a broken heart,

The annoying jest of a companion yet pleasing in the same way,

The unexplainable peace of a lover's reassuring words.

Not the kind filled with luxurious emptiness,

Not the large expensive spaces that echo a lack of warmth,

Not the perfect pictures that perfectly hide the misery 

 on magazine covers and billboards,

Not the blings and sparkles, fast cars and jet skis,

Not the flashings of cameras and red carpet,

Not the number one spot on X trend list,

And the main topic on blogs or even Forbes list,

Not the shouts of fans and infatuation of far-fetched crushes

Not any of these things.

The calmness of love and peace,

The beauty of hardwork and earning a reward, 

A wage, salary or commission would be perfect,

The ease of genuine laughter even the ridiculous and loud ones,

The reward of planning effectively and seeing those plans through,

The smile that is reflected in the eyes, one that cannot be faked,

The strength of a loved one that would fight for and with you through any battle,

The assurance that tomorrow would be good,

The love of a job, business or something worth doing.

What if this is all I ask for? 

Would it be too much to ask

And would you grant it to someone as flawed as me?