Broken-down Poetry: the antiblog.


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Tuesday, November 11, 2008

the antiblog.

I used to be honest-gut honest-without fearing what people said or thought about me. When I was an underclassman in high school, I posted blogs about how much I loved God and how Satan sucked. (And I said it quite eloquently, I might add. Just kidding.)

And then I began writing makeshift poetry. As a sophomore I would collaborate songs and poems with my own words to form what I called a blog, but it was really just a collage. And as a junior and senior I began to write editorials, examining my faith versus the religion I'm taught at church and the life I tried to hide behind. I asked questions.

But now, I can't bring myself to do any of that. I am embittered, but I just argue; I am dry, but I don't cry to God. I am stale. I have forgotten how to blog.

I don't know what I spend so much time thinking about. I'm not pondering some deep philosophical question or imploring God on the great mysteries of life. I think about what people are doing. Their hairstyles. The shoes they wear.

Dear Lord, what's wrong with me? I have fallen into a routine of study, eat, sleep, watch movies (or Colbert) and sleep some more. Is this the life you have called me to?

What about teaching me to love? What about speaking your Word like Ezekiel? What happened? Who am I?

I wish I knew.

I wish I was who I thought I was a few months ago.

I wish I would die to self-will already.

I wish I could realize stuff with Amanda again.

I wish I knew what I was doing.

I'm going to keep trudging through. The beauty of a trough is that it's the lowest point--it can't dip down any farther. It's only up from here.

On to victory or underground.,


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