I suffer the ridicule of many...
My work is called bad.
I spend 20 years doing it.
I can write epic poems,
But it is called "Word Salad."
Though, it can be understood,
And it is beautiful.
I write novels, but every sentence
Needs to be whittled down.
I struggle with the Piano.
I struggle with everything in life.
My body just won't let me do what I want to do.
And I have God, but I remember
All my friends and family
Making me small and little...
As the world does today.
I truly don't know if He hates me...
If that's why I received schizophrenia.
I don't know if the secret to Christianity
Is that we don't have to try at all...
And we can just live free and however we want to.
I don't know if trying is a sin;
If desiring to be good is what's truly evil;
I have very little emotions now.
My dreams accuse me,
Sometimes mocking me as if they were God.
I sing "Ave Maria"---Maria is not my god.
But I dream it, and the little image flashes before my eyes, and says,
"The dog ate my religion."
I do not know if I will create a cult---
I don't mean to.
The woman who I've never known
Twists me a thousand different ways.
I am still poor.
I am still ridiculed.
I am called "Stupid"
Though I know a thing or two.

Why do I love God, though?
Because the God of the Bible---
The one who caused Hadad to attack Solomon---
Is good.
We are not to slay the Edomites,
For they have some things right.
The preacher says they should have been slain to the last,
But I saw Joab do it, and I know Joab is wrong.
And Satan is like Joab...
So I cannot ally with him.
And I saw the star fall from heaven,
So I cannot believe in science.
I see Trump is figuring himself to be a Messiah,
And I see Christians banning with him...
I say he is no messiah.
But why did God do this to me?
Is it some sort of test?
To shake me to my core foundations,
And see what's left?
He has shaken me.
But I still cling.

For, I was a genius, and was treated like a retarded child.
I was able to do my business, but it was always done for me.
I was made into a pariah, even before anyone knew I had done wrong.
Maybe that's why I'd done wrong?

And I say, "Is it God doing this to me?
"Does God loathe my soul?
"Are Gays actually right?
"Are Transgenders?
"Is it a sin to preach on righteousness?
"Is it a sin to tell the truth?"

And then I see this wisdom:
"Blessed be ye if you hate this life, for you shall gain it."
And they strip it from me,
This little shred of wisdom
Saying, "No, you must love your life, and be prosperous.
"That is the only way to be saved."
For they grow tares, in Christianity, and only tares.
And then they become roots of bitterness.
For, they don't preach suffering, or sermons on bearing patiently.
Only about how we must be happy at all times,
And not laid to sadness.
Though, can I love my life, and still be saved?
I don't know.
Do I love life?
Yes. In a sense.
I have a thousand blessings...
But when I told "God" in my dream, I prayed the Prayer of Moses
And the Prayer of David, and that Avatar
Tried to make me ashamed.
That is not a god, in my dreams... it is a persecution,
An envy of the demons.
Every word it ever told me was wrong...
Every prophecy failed...
Yet, what I saw, in the strings of Providence,
I saw, and it came true.
For I have dreamed dreams...
I have had visions.
And some were from God...
But others were from Satan.
And I don't call myself a "Prophet"
But when God speaks to you in your dream,
And seems more like an accuser,
You can see for yourself that it is the voice of Satan.

So, I ask you Christians, not to accuse me.
I am on your side, but am delicate.