Response to the Church

I was finally starting to find myself love myself. Until you. I was planning a future for me where I could reach me where I could be me, and I wasn’t you. That’s the thing about me though, every time that I find myself, begin to love myself, I get in the way. Well the news is it wasn’t me this time. I wasn’t the one that hurt myself, starved myself, tried to kill myself. It was you. I had progress. You delivered to me a letter that outlined all my insecurities and pain then told me to be ashamed. I cried because I thought that I was my biggest critic, and it’s scary to think that someone can hurt me more than me. And I know that is not correct grammar even without word, but I like the way it sounds. I like something. As long as I don’t tell you, it’s allowed. What are you afraid of? Afraid of intelligence? Afraid of individuality? Afraid of non-conformity? I am non-conformity. Multiple individuals make up a group and groups are hard to control, but replicas are just like robots. You just need the right remote. You push me into your mold, melt me, harden me, cut off the pieces that you don’t like. The pieces that I shouldn’t like ‘cause they are wrong. I look around and see your perfect, knowing that I am never going to be perfect. Sometimes, I swear you talk to me without you even being there. It sure helps to encourage the encouragement I give myself to realign. They realign to become you. Still I can’t be sure if I am the hate that I force onto myself or if I just endure. What is the point of loving yourself if the whole world hates will anyway?