spitefulness born from consecration

As you bring the ideas I’ve heard time and time again to life,
I feel myself dancing with an old friend, strife.
And it desecrates my body like an old knife,
Watching you preach your so called highlife.

The push and pull of your contradictions,
Spoken in the words of your lone benediction.
You promise to rid those of their addiction,
While ignoring that what you tell them is all fiction.

I point this out hoping to challenge your assumptions,
But in the end you point me out as a disruption.
You say you’d bring me up again and call me resumption,
But I don’t want you as my father, not with the corruption.

You call me sinful and cast me out until I’m to see,
What you call that book as my ticket to set myself free.
But what you don’t realize is I’m what you made me,
Suffer the consequences or throw my body to the sea.

You brought me up under the guise of rebirth,
Then left me to fend in this hateful turf.
For a while it felt as though you made me hurt,
Then I realized you failed to make me convert.

The smile on my face is not from you,
But instead from the fact that I made it through.
I found out the hard way my own views on what’s true,
But at least I never harmed anybody out of the blue.