Carefully wrapped, sealed and packaged, tied up with a pretty bow. Manufactured using the highest quality, genetically engineered, counterfeit fluff. Acting as though you can’t see my heart, like you didn’t handcraft my very being. Scandalously portraying a persona as if you don’t know what I desperately need. I sashay into your presence, bow my head to pray and I offer up plastic prayers. I speak the things I believe I should, I use words that fit. Socially acceptable, adequately complete, wholly intact. Plastic words.

I wonder why I bore of this dialogue. My mind so quick to wander. Grocery list, things to do, heavy eyes, all mastering the controls. Mindlessly held captive, a prisoner of my written script. Coming less and less to spend time with you. Burdened by the task of prayer. Unable to make up words and facades, exhausted by its task. Fostering a stale kinship at my own accord.

In the desperate times though, everything changes. There is a shift. A transposition of the equilibrium. When my spirit is grieving and my soul is heavy. When the burden has become too much to bare. When it is as though I am trudging through mud. True prayers pour forth. Like a volcano that can no longer hold inside its core, I bellow out the real. The real needs, the real desires, the real pain. I expose the wounds of my heart and finally surrender truth.

It is in this surrender the veil is removed. In this truth, the plastic melts. This surrender is what you long for. The genuine dialogue you created me to have. The relationship you long to foster with me, your creation, your masterpiece. You joy in the removal of the veil.

Father, no more plastic prayers. No more handcrafted exposes. No more veils concealing the truth. Help me find the freedom in being veil-less.