Dear Dad,

I’m in my feelings. Like it’s just the place, and space I found ways and delays, to replace my null and void, and my wrong seed weeds to completely avoid. You know I cannot stand, this form of transform because it no longer makes me, take my stake in wrong strong living in my solo throng. I’m sick of the lies that humans hide inside. I still see what’s to be, and you’re now stopping me from my dying glee to flee. Whatever Dad, you’re persistent and consistent push to show Your Go in Your Pending Stage, is not a gauge I want to wage. Not when my heart is so fragile. No thanks. I’ll choose to lose in the decay of yesterday. Like those two wrong hues that are not true.

Too many humans choose conclusions full of the bull in their flesh god facades, with their self made lemonade, rejecting and neglecting Your Protecting Renegade. That’s okay, I choose today with just you God, not that blue times two. That two strand wrong hue, that penetrated from the cheap thrills of no Gills, doesn’t have to be at the current standstill it is now. You don’t have to demand your command, in making these two who are not true, take a bow from their follow in their no unity night community hallow swallow. The press send in never ending pretend, can be that see you let wrong she’s suggest to You God be this wrong she’s true. Stop telling this wrong she: it’s me, it’s not you, you’re not true, or it’ll never be you. Clearly this wrong she, and this he doesn’t agree with you about me as his correct she. 

I’m too tired and wired from the flesh god facades, that will never be of you God. They’re too toxic, robotic, and chaotic. But popularity is the regularity that humans choose to lose in. Not me, I choose to be set free. I’m so glad, I walked through my talk of sad and mad, about these two wrong hues, who swim in a grim, of trim skimmed depressing distressing musical blues. The constant replay in this pain will never Have Your Gain. There’s no saxophone that will ever drown out, the truth of these two never being true, or truly not seeing being a droned clone of man; making decisions over their lives, instead of you directing their path God. There’s no saxophone that will ever drown out, that flesh was the choice and Not Your Voice. There’s no saxophone that will ever drown out, that lust was the rust that created these two wrong hues, who will never be true: just cheap lemonade. There’s no saxophone that will ever drown out, that these two wrong hues ignored you God as their Renegade.

Don’t you see, this wrong she managed to convince this son of yours, to press play in this decay of yesterday; and to never ever be in the present of Your Today. Don’t you see, this wrong she managed, to make this son of yours believe and receive the corruptive confetti, replaced the space of this son of yours agonizing empty. Don’t you see this wrong she gathered a throng, through this wrong she’s silent song, in the night no unity community they’re in now; this wrong she clung to be this he forever be to press play in decayed replayed sing; yet this will always make this wrong she sting due to the wrong hue of those wedding rings. 

Don’t you see this wrong she, had big support in her abort to be set free, so this wrong she played on the dismay, of this son of yours pale scales in the momentum of last summer’s continuum pendulum. Don’t you see this wrong she, prevailed in this son of yours pending veil to never tear. So don’t you see, this wrong she’s forced a course of a lace veil. Don’t you see, this wrong she believes you God should receive her flesh god facade? Don’t you see this wrong she, wants to keep getting away with making Your Wine kool-aid? Don’t you see this wrong she, wants to not say yes as Your Renegade. 

Don’t you see this wrong she, made this he an idol? Yet this son of yours was worried about me as an idol. What man avoids, man always walks into and gets destroyed. Man is these two as wrong hues: this he and wrong she. Both these broken chosen, had hidden fears that both are walking through their no talking now. Don’t you see this wrong she, wants to keep this he even if he is an idol? Wrong rings still sting, and will never have Your Wings God, especially if this he for this wrong she is an idol. Wrongs will never be made right according to You God. 

Don’t you see this wrong she believes she’s entitled, not in the space of idol, because this wrong she believes in tangibility, and in the life this wrong she worked hard, to tangibly have all starting in her mad land of quicksand. Don’t you see that this wrong she, truly believes the two strands in this hit it and quit it misfit, should last. Because this temporary confetti went this far, this empty should be the forever be, according to this wrong she not be her sixth jar. 

There’s only three strands in your Kingdom Band. Not one strand, and not two strands like this wrong hue, that’s currently pressing play in the decay of never today. The path to correct math, you keep showing me, who is this he’s she as me. Not the facade of flesh god wrong she and this he projects, you truly reject God. According to you God this wrong hue of these two is a facade. According to me, I’m free. I’m away from this decay, of never being better together, through their no unity night community delayed dismay. Don’t you see, this wrong she is committed to the overcompensation of no love, of never seeing Your Dove, because this wrong she truly believes, that this wrong she is entitled to this he. This wrong she does not want to receive this he is an idol. This wrong she should be the path in what You God achieve, is correct math with this he, who You God say is for me.

I’m finding it easier to believe I’m cool with these two fools, thinking their sinking is actually factually cool. Just because a night no unity community, laughed and ate at their forced silence alliance celebrate. When two or more are gathered to lather, the soap of fake dope, fake love, and fake godliness, because of the hush hush fornicate could not be the see; will never make it a permeate, but according to this wrong she: she’s home free. Don’t you see, this wrong she worked hard, sucked up years of tears, and ignored your truth, all to make her pitfall break and take, be this wrong she’s self made cheap lemonade after all those law of averages chases: man after man concentrate. This he, was the no that turned into yes, when this he was lower than low. Hook, line and sinker to prevent this he to be a godly thinker. Two years of planning and positioning, until the perfect time, to be in this son of yours mind, to have a moment as a key to play rewind in time. 

Don’t you see, this wrong she is this son of yours poisonous throng, and the wrong seed weed? Well I see, and you see God, even that false prophet saw the cause to pause, and to press delay in decay. To play up the make up of saying it’s today. To play up the make up that this wrong she is the soulmate of this son of yours. When tangibility is the faith in your heart, than man can make you believe anything is three strands; exactly what happened to this son of yours God. Because this he sees faith as a stake of tangibility.

That same son of yours who hides behind his pride, and in his lie that makes him internally die. There’s no love, in this legalized, hypnotized, and magnified hit it and quit it misfit. Just because it’s a legal legit there’s still cheap thrills, there’s still no Gills. There’s just brokenness. There’s only flesh god no confess looped trooped professed facades. Everyday is the yesterday, of never better together today. The best last first bite is now this wrong she’s bow to her knees, in all her sinful strife. In this wrong she’s hidden pleas, to make this wrong math the path to your craft God. But that’s not how you role Dad is it? If you blocked my clock to stop this click to make me have my own path? Then I have no idea why this wrong she’s delusions, are being replayed as factual conclusions. Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same lame over, and over; and expecting a different result, even if this wrong she found a cult in this no unity night community? 

This same son of yours that you keep saying is for me, and I’m the she in your path to correct math: he + He + her, also does not agree. I battle in my agree, because of this current tangibility. I battle in my agree because I’m tired. I want this all to end. I no longer want to be stronger in pretend. I no longer want to be stronger in my flesh god facade; because my hurt has no worth. It took this mountain to take a hold of me. So please don’t let go Dad. I can’t survive without you God. I have no clue what to do or what’s next. I choose love no matter what. I say yes to whatever impossible you will part as a Red Sea to: I’m Possible. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Phillipians 4:13. I choose you God. I choose to rise above and fix my eyes on Your Dove no matter what, this wrong hue of two believes is true. Neither of these broken chosen, who walk in their talk flesh god facade, are still not bigger than you God. I love you Dad. I choose to see You as my Truth God. Amen. 

Love your daughter. 


2 thoughts on “Idol

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