• Who the ******** are you?
    I am the unrepentant sinner.
    I will never aspire to sainthood,
    nor ever apologize for my own nature.
    I am unmoved by the divine word.
    It does little more than bore me,
    and when it succeeds,
    in doing any more than that,
    invariably, it revolts me without measure.
    His presence is a lie,
    born of man's judgmental heart,
    and his pitifully engorged ego.
    Everybody thinks they're the golden swan,
    that they never have, nor ever could,
    do any such thing as wrong.
    They turn a blind eye to their own lies,
    and their own lust, and greed.
    As long as God forgives,
    why should they take a personal account?
    Why bother doing anything but worship,
    then die?
    I do not turn a blind eye to my flaws.
    I embrace them.
    I enjoy them.
    I give my flaws as much love as my virtues,
    I father my lies with as much tender care,
    and I abort them as readily as the unwanting mother.
    You look at that pregnant woman,
    who wishes to end her unborn heir,
    and you see someone sad,
    someone who should be pittied.
    You see her and instead of seeing yourself,
    you say that she is the one who is mistaken.
    And just who the ******** are you again?
    Who the ******** are you to judge her actions?
    Who the ******** are you to judge anyone?
    Are you ******** God, [********]
    Have you walked even an inch in her shoes?
    You've never ever even tried them on, have you?
    I've told you who I am;
    I am the unrepentant sinner.
    Believable is it not?
    But you? Who the ******** are you?
    We have little answer,
    in comparison to the amount,
    which you proselytize your own moral objectivity.
    But you don't seek worship, do you?
    Of course not!
    One who espouses the wrongness of others,
    rather than scouring himself for failings,
    surely has no such thing as a demanding ego.
    He certainly does not chastise the "wrongdoer,"
    for his own vicarious elitism, and sense of superiority,
    nor does he commit his own sin of pride,
    and petulant, under-handed, presumptuous judgement,
    when he condemns the acts of others.
    Are you the one that God talks to, even?
    Doubtful.
    Are you the one who serves,
    as his holy confidant, who translates his will,
    for us low beasts, without a sense of morality?
    Not quite so believable.
    Who created us that way,
    without a sense of morality?
    Was that not also God?
    Who made us this way?
    And who the ******** are you,
    to say that he was wrong?
    I am the unrepentant sinner.
    You are the one who points the finger.
    One of us is a traitor.
    You decide which.