Miss Preacher Poem by Melissa Nyman

Oh Miss Preacher, preach more to me.
Orate the truth of happiness and of destiny.
While you sit in a dark room with that blade in your hand.
Analysing dreams of a shiny distant land.

Don't you know Miss Preacher that you're no better than the rest.
That hurting the world won't fill the void in your chest.
That throwing little tantrums and making angry faces.
Doesn't heal the pain or hide the tear traces.

I know, Miss Preacher, that it didn't go as it should.
But shouting and screaming doesn't do any good.
''I know, I know'' are the words you always say.
But do you really see how you're fading away?

Mother's stretching her hand and trying hard to reach.
But Miss Know-It-All, you can't see because you always need to preach.
Your smart mouth which was once oh so sweet.
Makes you so ugly and goodness obsolete.

Oh Miss Preacher is there really any hope?
Or would it just be easier to hang by that long deadly rope?
But i believe in you Miss Preacher and God does too.
Stop looking for all the bad when there's so much good in you.