They open their books and read tiny words on thin pages bound together to create dense nonsense. Then they go and sit in a room to sing about the greatness of a man they’ve never met; A man more unreachable than the government in a situation warranting accountability.
If only they knew they need not move an inch to see the truth. If only they could see god in the eyes of the junkies, god in the eyes of a man looking down the scope of a killing machine, and most importantly, god in the eyes of themselves.
If only they could look up into the sky, at the sun, and other stars, and see there is more than enough beauty in these things.
I try to fall in love with a stranger each day. I try to forgive them for all they’ve ever done and will ever do. And sometimes I wish I had all the powers of gods, so I could show them that if a stranger can love them, surely they can love themselves. But instead I write. I write to try to let the world see into my strange conflicted mind.
By the holy books standards, I am a sinner, a blasphemous embodiment of all seven deadly sins. Even the unholy may agree. And sometimes I wonder how I can live with myself.
If only they knew being human is not easy for us all. At least not a conventional one. If only they knew how to accept those unlike themselves, unlike anyone else.
The power of forgiveness and expression will always outweigh the psuedo strength of prayer.