Down on my knees..

Wont you call me some time, Pappa? I dont know what on earth I did. But I need you.

When did I learn to protstrate? I was never raised Catholic. But it is there indeed. Ohhh! The agony! Oh no Lord! Why!?! You have forsaken us. Oh Lord!! Why must we suffer!?

Do I really need to display this vulgarity here? Is there no better way for me to release my grief? No, I can most plainly say; there is not. There is blood in me--the blood of women with strong backs and thick legs; with a sense of honor, of duty; with a love of family and food, of community and health, joy and sorrow. I will not deny that passion. There is no love in me if I am not passionate.
So why then am I demonized for being confused, overwhelmed, afraid and withered? There may or may not be a method to my madness-does that mean I may be horribly wrong? Perhaps. Is that the death of me? It would appear so.