Poems of Doubtful Hope

Abundance is scary. For some reason, the idea of more than enough Feels like more than I can handle. Maybe it's because an abundance of feelings Is what pushed my mother over the edge of depression And into the pit of a psychotic break. Maybe it's because most of the things I've experienced abundantly Aren't good things like joy and life But things like depression and anxiety, Overeating and self-indulgence, Suffering and rejection.  Abundance feels greedy.  If I have more than enough,  Does that mean someone else goes without? Am I a bad person if I embrace abundance When I know that there are people all around me Who are barely scraping by,  Always coming up short? If I accept the abundance God has come to offer, Does that mean I have to believe Someone like me deserves to be happy? Abundance invites over-indulgence, And I would be hard-pressed to deny There are things in my life where I keep taking Even when I know that the best thing (For me and for everyone else...

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. 

 O, how I yearn to be comfortably numb! To release the tension of my anxiety, Slip loose of the shackles of depression,  And drop the weight of the world from my shoulders.  It's never been mine to carry; The pressure is all in my head. Someone point out the release valve Before we burn past the red. Let the dam find another damn Dutch boy! Tell Atlas to take the sky back! All of these dragon-shaped windmills I'm fighting Will have to just cut me some slack.

It feels like the height of melodrama To claim that the place I find myself  Is anywhere adjacent to "the depths,"  And it wouldn't exactly be true to say I've spent much time crying out to you.  "In a slump I sit around waiting for someone else to do something" Would be a more accurate description.  I believe that you've forgiven me. I believe that you love me and want my best. But Bill, I believe this is killing me.  My soul has fallen to its metaphorical knees And I'm struggling to find the strength to stand back up To keep trudging, mile after mile,  Surrounded by so much nonsense baptized in self-righteous spite.  I've been waiting for the morning like a watchman.  I've abandoned personal responsibility for mindless oblivion.  I shuffle along, day by day,  Like a mindless troglodyte heedless of his own actions.  My soul will wait for the Lord, and I trust in you,  But I can't stand still and sink into the depths while I wa...

When I find myself in times of anger,  Ready to unleash my woe,  A voice inside me whispers "Let it go." And in my righteous indignation,  Anger deep down starts to grow. But what good is it doing? Let it go.  Let it go, Let it go,  Let it go, let it go.  Walk away, allow yourself to grow.  And when the hateful people Who want you to lose your shit Goad you into anger,  Part with it.  For though they may be fuming,  Wanting you to throw a fit,  Your rage is not your master,  Part with it.  Part with it, Part with it,  Part with it, Part with it,  Set your anger down and part with it.  Let it go, Let it go,  Let it go, let it go.  Walk away, allow yourself to grow.  And in the midst of sorrow,  When depression leads into despair,  Tell yourself the truth: someone cares.  Your mind is playing tricks on you,  Trying to leave you unaware.  Picture in your mind someone who ...