Unrequited Pym

I wonder about the worthiness of taking chances on somebody like me. I’m easily torn down by insensitive words. I forget that people often say what they don’t mean. And I know people sometimes mean things they never intended to say.

But here’s my truth.

I’m just a breath, really.

Then I listen real hard an real good. I listen between the rustlin and the whistlin winds, and I gets quiet like a stalkin cat. Just waitin. Then I hear Sky Daddy, sighing and stiff and cold as sin. I know I has his attention. So I says to him, “Ease up, you old toad. You’re bein too cold and distant, like a fool moon.”

An’ I wrinkle my nose to make my point clear. Sky Daddy is use to worship, you see, but I wasn’t made to do that.

I learned long ago that fools made every god ever worshipped, and that this particular blue rock is ruled by fools, not gods.