Poems of Doubtful Hope

Descartes said, "Cogito, Ergo Sum," But doubts don't bring me To the certainty of my existence. Rather they drive me to the fringes Of feeling so very lost and alone. I doubt, therefore I wonder why? Why am I here, struggling against An endless deluge of questions and Finding myself more and more convinced That the answers aren't there, Or at least they don't exist until you create them. I doubt, therefore I worry the love I feel from the people in my life Could never shine bright enough To overwhelm the darkness that would envelop me If I followed my heart in the directions it wants to lead: Away from faith, away from comfort and tradition, Out into the eternal and unknown realm of "what if?" I doubt, therefore I feel unworthy. I doubt, therefore I torture myself with insecurity. I doubt, therefore I doubt myself.

 Anxiety is an itch you can never scratch,  So you dig your nails into other things you can,  Pulling off scabs and picking at your cuticles,  Flaking off dry skin in the winter,  Peeling your sunburns in the summer,  All the while feeling like the thing that really needs scratching Is somewhere deep inside and there's no way to find relief.  So, you scratch at the walls of security,  Trying to find cracks that you create with your frantic searching.  You scratch at the walls of your calming hobbies,  Worrying about what drives you to do the things you do.  You throw all the grit you can into the empty hole inside you,  Hoping that some of it will rub against the edges and soothe your raw nerves.  You drum your fingers on the table.  You fidget with gadgets and doodads to keep yourself busy.  You fervently ignore the increasing volume of the whistling pressure As the seams start to leak and the structure starts t...

 I've never been able to stand a hypocrite,  But that's probably in part because I'm afraid to admit The ways that my actions defy my belief And honestly somedays I think it would be a relief To be exposed as what I am on the inside To give up the running and not have to hide. But a Christian is supposed to be perfect and strong, And pastors know the words to every song Even if the meaning they carry is fading away And their mask is slipping more every day Because people are supposed to be able to rely on their shepherd Even on days he feels harassed and helpless.  Maybe that's the secret of the self-righteous Pharisee; Their holiness is a myth hiding what they can't bare to be Known by the people they try to impress So they keep ignoring the weight on their chest Of sin and secrets and hidden failures buried deep. If we were honest Jesus wouldn't be the only one to weep.