I used to read my poetry to my mother

and now, I can’t.

I can’t speak.

I don’t want to.

My spirit isn’t willing.

I was working out with my friend, and the girl we texted

ignored our messages.

“She’ll regret it,” he said.

I got a random text from a buddy, asking if I called him.

“No,” I replied.

I haven’t heard from him since.

I was leaving the gym. Two girls smiled at me.

“Hey man, it’s nice to have female attention,” I told my friend.

“It’s a crutch,” he said. “You need to ask them out and get them interested in you.”

“Strange, I don’t feel like that should be hard, but it is.”

I was talking to a teacher in the hallway, “That girl that I like… we’re going skiing together.”

“Let me know how it goes,” he said.

Then I went on and on about God, and how I wanted God to intervene in my life.

“If He can call down fire from heaven, He can connect me to my wife.”

My co-worker is a believer, but he looked at me like I was crazy.

People don’t believe in anything, anymore. I try to move mountains with my mind, and they stay the same.

I drove to meet my friend, and my windshield wipers stopped working.

It was raining.

A sheet of water blinded me. I saw red and white dots, and then the traffic lights. I nearly ran into the back of a police car.

“God, please fix my windshield wipers,” I prayed. They remained the same.

Poetry will save me, but nothing else will.

A new job, is like a new trap.

A new woman… well, you get the idea.

“Hey,” I told my friend. “God didn’t fix my windshield wipers.”

“God gave you a brain. Fix it yourself.”

“I’m just tired of doing everything in my own strength.”

“You should do poetry readings…”

“I can’t speak,” I said.

I went home and read the bible, randomly.

It told me, to wait on God.

“How long?” I asked.

There was no response.