My life is so absurdly and laughably bad if my life was a story you’d think the writers created me just to make me suffer. My face is so ugly you’d think the fabric of my skin from which I have been stitched from was born off of the hands of Satan himself. God did not enjoy the creation of me. If he did at all. From all that I have done wrong I believe I have exhaled the breath of life I have been gifted so graciously. My ungratefulness and folly make me wonder if it is all a byproduct of what I have been set to be or a byproduct of what has been what I was set as.