God's Here

Yes, I know, it's not just you and me, God's here, too. Somehow he doesn't bother me as much as you. That's weird. I understand. But still... I want you to like me. I guess I start at the beginning? I used to take Bubba's candy and toy cars. The kindergarten teacher caught me scratching tables. In second grade I hit a little girl. What? You want more? Oh. Just different. The exact nature of our wrongs? I'm scared all the time. I'm always into me, not you, not him, not God. I hide my head in mindless games, an ostrich in the sand, and hurry to anything that promises oblivion when, unprepared, I fall face-flat to floor. Simple things I didn't do haunt me so I wreck a friendship when she can't recall my wrong, just knows I avoid her. I lie and cheat to duck the blame, defame a saint to feel less odious, to blunt the pain. It's who I am, the best I've managed yet, abjectly miserable. So there, you see, I thank you for your time and kindness to me. I know you hate me now. You what? How could you love me at all, much less more? Yes, I feel your love. And God's.