A Psalm of complaint

How long will the wicked prosper?

How long will mine enemy triumph over me?

I praise your name all day long, O mother, I go forth to declare your glory

I follow in your footsteps night and day,

See O mother, how I love your law!

I wash my hands in the bathroom according to your word

If I see an open fridge, I close it

And a dropped sippy cup, I retrieve it without complaint

My hands have not thrown blocks at my brothers

though they taunt and ridicule me without ceasing

My feet have not wandered to the puddle or the road or the field

My laundry, though it sticks to my hands and offends my nose,

I have placed in the basket as you have commanded

My stomach has submitted to your harsh schedule of meals and snacks

My ears are attentive to your numerous lectures,

and my eyes divert not away to the television

Yet you, O mother, do not heed me in my distress!

My tears are my food and my face is caked with mud

My brothers scoff, they smite me to my face

How long will you keep silent?!

Hang up the phone and heed my cry!

Do not hide your face from me in the office!

Judge the wicked, O mother!

Make them drink the cup of your wrath!

fill them with corner-standing, spankings, and green beans,

until their hearts are turned to you once more!