You told me I was sick.
I needed help.
You threw me down at the steps of the alter and told me to pray.
Pray to be better.
All the while, you called me wrong,
Told me I was worthless.
That I was nothing.
I got on my knees and prayed,
But not for me.
For you.
I was born 'sick'.
Made this way by your god.
You.
You were created into this.
You twisted holy words of love and kindness and make them into something malicious.
To use for your own selfish reasons.
To use as a weapon against me.
You're the one that is sick.
YOU ARE READING
My Mind On Paper
PoetryA collection of poems written by me. These are for the heartbroken, the hopeless romantics, the lonely, and the people struggling with their mental health. Also, I try to add a nice picture to every chapter to take away from some deep-ness(?) of som...
