“You made me like a handcrafted piece of pottery— and now are you going to smash me to pieces? Don’t you remember how beautifully you worked my clay? Will you reduce me now to a mud pie? Oh, that marvel of conception as you stirred together semen and ovum— What a miracle of skin and bone, muscle and brain! You gave me life itself, and incredible love. You watched and guarded every breath I took. “But you never told me about this part. I should have known that there was more to it— That if I so much as missed a step, you’d notice and pounce, wouldn’t let me get by with a thing. If I’m truly guilty, I’m doomed. But if I’m innocent, it’s no better—I’m still doomed. My belly is full of bitterness. I’m up to my ears in a swamp of affliction. I try to make the best of it, try to brave it out, but you’re too much for me, relentless, like a lion on the prowl. You line up fresh witnesses against me. You compound your anger and pile on the grief and pain!
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