Because I am not a self-help guru come to convince you that you can change.
No, nor a chicken-soup-soul lifter.
I am not the wit warrior cracking jokes, the courageous crusader for a cause, or the incorporated icon.
I am far worse than that.
I am a soul.
Mortally wounded soul.
I am the Lunatic crying from the street corner.
I am the one who cannot say it will all be OK.
IT WILL NOT.
The words float like acid in my stomach, burning to be unleashed and scorch my mouth and the nostrils of those around me.
I am the dying, who finally sees.
And the open-eyes of this sickened soul looks at the world pretending to be well and just wants to grab his cardboard sign and yell:
YOU ARE NOT WELL YOUNG EARTH!
Why are you not looking for the doctor?
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God give us the strength to stand with the prophets of old and say the truth nobody wants to hear. Amen.
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