Become
The soul becomes. But
what does it become?
Does it mold with the constant
pounding of fists on our sides,
or change in an instant with the words
deflected off our calous shell?
I wonder how the world views me.
What it thinks about my smile, and
laughter. Is it as shallow as I feel.
Or can it tell that i sit,
on the edge with disaster?
My family says "That is not your
friend, that is evil." But I say to them,
what can you know of evil living
your life in a perfect world? Can
you judge the damned, without first
setting a foot in hell?
If I am not holy then why does He love me,
or does He not? Does the King of grace look
down on me, with anger at the path I was
thrust upon. How can he, who so many worship
as omnipotent, look on a slave to himself with
contempt? For he knows the truth in my lies.
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