Confessions of the Anxious

I wish I liked myself more.
That would be nice.
And beneficial.
Maybe then I wouldn't have bumps all over my face.
And hip bones plunging out of my body.
Maybe then I could wake up breathing calmly.
And put my feet on the floor without fearing the touch of the carpet.
That would be nice.

How the fuck do we accept the things we cannot change?!
How do we sit here, powerless,
And keep hoping that all shall be well?
Sometimes I just don't know,
And I'm tired of hoping here prostrate on the floor.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,
Have mercy on me a sinner.
I'm tired.
I want clear skin more than I want You.
I want the life back in my eyes more than I want Your approval.

Father, forgive me,
For I know what I do.