This twin again

Still praying. I'm somehow convinced that there is a God somewhere. I'm not sure if it's a He or a She. I don't mind, He could be a transvestite for all I care. Because transvestites also have a heart, hence they can also love. And I have been brought up to think that God is one who loves. There was one time I was so angry at God that I decided there was no God in the first place. Because you have to have balls to be angry at someone like God. But then again, in hindsight perhaps God was there, only I couldn't see him, probably tragedy makes you blind to God, so yes I am letting myself off the hook for that one. Tragedy is a bad thing. Especially when it's so sudden, but then probably most tragedies are sudden, that's why they are called tragedies in the first place. Anyway, I'm digressing as usual. Sometimes I surprise myself, I always have so much to say, and then in real life I'm no chatterbox, rather the wallflower who says nothing and everything just by her eyes. My eyes! Oh God how misinterpreted they've been. People think I'm a witch and will curse them. I have had crucifixes pushed into my face , I would have burned at the stake were it not for the millenium. Me, a witch. If only that were true. If only I could curse the baddies and send them rotting in hell. No worse, I'd put them naked without sunblock for a day at Ghadira Beach. That's hotter, in the sense of temperature, because none of the baddies are hot as in the sexual sense although some think they are Casanovas, and some think they are Casanova's Playboy Bunnies. Yeah right I can just about see their thingies on a Page 3. The wouldn't even make it there. So back to God again. I hope God is not confusing me with my twin, yes I know He sent us as a package, but heyyyyy God, it's not the twin of Arani Issa fame, it's the twin of the twin of Arani Issa fame. And I need Your help. I do not want to go back to the hellhole, to that disgusting brothel where all things are copulating and probably swallowing too since it works in such bad taste. I am no prostitute, that is where the trouble is. And yes of course I talk a lot about sex, I have lived in it for a whopping 16 years, that's why I know so much. I want little people to be the order of the day, not a sycophant fuck on the menu. It tastes vile you know. It's not Straight Street, but it's close, it's two streets paralleled down. That's how close it is, just a one minute walk. And it's worse than Straight Street because Straight Street has a bit of Marks and Spencer to liven up things a bit decently. I know there is a God, although my shrink isn't very impressed about this information. Yes I have a shrink and I'm not mad. My shrink thinks a lot on the principles of Arani Issa, he has to see and touch, and smell and probably also eat to be convinced. But I am not him, perhaps because the idea of God is something which I want to believe in, otherwise everything would seem so bland. It is a comforting idea, so even if that idea isn't true I do not want to hear. Because when my nearest and closest are gone from this life I want to think that God is doing all the looking after. And that is a lot of comfort. I don't know why God has not helped me enough to bring the baddies to justice. Perhaps it's my fault for not wanting to prise open the can of worms. But now the worms will be starting to see daylight, hey God, won't You see them? Won't You help the scared twin, the one who was always backstage, the one who shied away from the limelight in the hope of a better future? Again I repeat, it's this twin, the one born first but declared the younger, the quieter twin, the one locked up in her own (very sane) world of little people, and in case that isn't enough... it's not the male twin but the female one here. Because God You made me a girl.