I Am The Greatest Hypocrite That Ever Lived
I will cross the country in a search of your faith even though I may have lost mine.
I claim to believe in a God who is fair, but there is nothing fair about this.
I will give you the last dollar in my wallet when I see you on the street
just to forget you.
Never to feed you.
When I tell you I don’t use pornography,
that there’s nothing wrong with me,
you will find me browsing magazines and movie screens.
I swear I am saving myself for marriage, yet I still undress you
every day
from unsafe distances
and miles away.
I proclaim to be an original,
A Warhol.
A Kerouac.
But I’m jealous of your cool;
how you’re always oh, so cool.
Your hair,
and the clothes you wear.
And when I ask you how you are, it’s unlike me that I’ll care.
I’ll stare polite,
But I’m only waiting for my turn to talk.
Before I walk
away
for good.
Wait until I say I am going to pray for you
today,
but I am only praying for myself
tonight.
I need to make rent.
I need that promotion.
I need more devotion,
to You.
I need.
I need.
I need.
I need more than you do, don’t you know?
I work honest and hard until Friday, but only because I am planning to steal from you on Saturday.
I lift my hands in worship on Sunday, and cry out to God on Monday.
But on Tuesday I speak only in blasphemy;
no more need to be on these weak knees.
So I sharpen my blade
to fit between your shoulder blades.
I want you to promise me,
but I break them all
oh, so easily.
I’m begging for authenticity
to wreck fatal hypocrisy.
For I am the worst sinner that ever lived.
I’ve been built to fail, not succeed.
Wherein lies my need
to be saved.
From myself.
From you.
In a society that screams for me to be
an original.
A Warhol.
A Kerouac.
But I can only be
me.
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