I’ve finished with the essays
I’m late with my classes
I’m pretending to be a leader who knows how to lead the masses
Yet at night, when I’ve powered down my on-line
Self and sit, eyes drooping my hands over your pages, the words are swimming, they’re melting, what do they mean?
Superficial is my understanding, resistant is my comprehension.
I want you to enter my bedroom, take me by the shoulders
and talk to me. Don’t talk through me or at me from the pulpit
Talk to me, like the friend you say you are.
Let’s have a cup of tea, a Snickers, and let’s snuggle whilst you teach me about all your ways, your ideas, your dreams and desires.
Psalm 119 vs 125: I am your servant; give me understanding, that I may know your testimonies!