A Most Embarrassing Confession

What could be
less defensible
than finding one's-self
content?

Supplicant, I reach up
with my hand often enough,
while time passes
unjustly, no one
stopping to lift me.

I am so certain I am
wounded and live injured
with a heart scarred.
I grow wonderful tears
and my prayers are
bent poems.

What could be
less defensible
than being content?