The Hypocrite

I feel like walking sin.
I struggle between
here and a place
so close
yet so far
away.

I feel like liberation.
I stand up and shout my joy to the world;
In silent whispers
I slowly close my eyes,
and cry myself to sleep.

I feel like walking sin,
you tell me how wrong I am
you tell me how to live me life,
you teach me how to feel

You steal the joy from off my lips,
you slice it up and
photocopy it
photocopy it
photocopy it
away my joy goes.
You give me a certificate:
True Joy.

You tell me how to feel
how to listen to a verse and cry myself to sleep
begging for repentence for my sins
and smiling
because I now think I can tell myself to know
how to feel.
Blessed

I am walking sin
you wish you could not see
you turn away,
you pray for peace,
you pray for purity,
you pray that the Jews would go to hell.

You tell me to grieve
with a smile on your face
you tell me to love a love I cannot speak
you tell me to take the words
from off your lips
keep them within my reach
so I can look at them day to day
to paint a picture of joy;
a reminder of your painful joy-
I mean, my painful joy-
the joy of rejecting love,
accepting faith,
leaving my questions at the door,
Being happy with what you have-
I mean, what I have.

I feel like walking sin
I learnt it from your eyes,
I was a mistake.
You need to whip me back into shape.
Mould me back into what I
was supposed to be.
Liquid hope.
Everlasting,
Desolate,
Hope.

I love you,

but you are a miracle

and I am just
Walking Sin.

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