Self Pity

Faith is locked
I cannot find it for the anger
that swells and threatens to choke me.
I’ve had enough and no longer care
who’s life is worse than mine.
Don’t give a damn about
the comparison of suffering that I was taught
and have carried with me
since I was small:
Someone else is suffering more
and thus diminishes my suffering
and makes it bearable.
Right now it is unbearable and
I want to feel each prick and sting of it.
My suffering.
My own.
And I want to rail Heaven
And conjure Doubt
And keep Faith at bay.
I want to savor it,
stroke it like a favored pet.
It is one of the few things I own outright.
I feign surprise at how low
this small but painful blow has brought me,
but that is self deception.
I am always on the cusp of Despair
and have always relied on the Grace
of the suffering of others to keep me from falling.
Perhaps when I am done
with grinding this glass
into my wounds
I will be able to remember the sacrifice
their suffering has made for me
and crawl back with gratitude
to Hope.
Their offering upon the altar
of my self absorption
a Eucharist, salvation for my transgression,
transforming their pain
in to my
Resurrection.