When you turn your face away from the young lady with severe boils and dry scabs covering every inch of her skin
do you feel yourself grow? Do you feel new, with shedding snake skin peeling off of your body, making you vibrant and bright?
Do you feel beautiful when you turn the ugly away?
When you talk to the twenty six year old man with moderate autism like he is five years old, do you feel grown?
When he cannot write the word garbage correctly, do you treat him like trash - discarded and forgotten?
Do you feel intelligent with the world on your side, only seeking to understand the average and the normal?
When you knock your child around, do you feel big? Do you feel the power coursing through your veins? Do you feel the adrenaline pumping through your body?
When he cowers in fear at your words of “USELESS” and “WORTHLESS” do you feel worthy of his attention, of his affection, of his love?
When you stand on the other side of homosexuality and send your acid laced words claiming biblical truth to burn their sin away, do you feel righteous?
When your hate filled phrases make someone want to kill themselves to “get rid of the gay” do you feel loving?
When you split marriage to be between one man and one woman do you feel like an earthquake, dividing the world to fit your standard and letting those you don’t understand fall to the core of the world, so you can walk all over them again?
When you send a man to his death, do you feel like God?
Do you feel the way mountains long to be moved and women scream to be heard and little boys cry at night because they know they are girls and everyone tells them that they are confused?
Tell me, do you feel like God?
You are no God, you of weak and little love, your hands did not build ribcages of protection and skeletons of structure.
Your back did not bear his burdens when they threatened to crush him.
You did not pick the larva out of the wounds of the divine and beg to bathe him.
You did not care for her when she had next to nothing, but you cared for yourself when you took her everything.
Your hands are not dirty from digging him out of the mud, but clean because you were the one who pushed him in.
You did not pick up your cross and crucify yourself with him, you were the one in the crowd shouting, “KILL HIM”
Depart from me. Depart from him.
Go and find love.
If you could go anywhere in the world right now would it be to a “where” or to a “who”?
I was not prepared for this question