I wear my emotions on my sleeves
I'm as transparent as it gets
What you see is what you get
Correct me if i'm wrong
Whence did I receive rationalizations galore of righteous indignation?
I got my foolish zeal from you
There I inherited my infatuation for justice
And my great pride?
My boldness in the face of evil?
My extraordinary self-confidence?
All from your example
My phobias come from her
My pushiness from her
All empathy from her
My pity from her
My cunning—all hers
Nobody knows as much as you though
She was severely mentally ill
You were completely and stubbornly sane
Her illness would manifest a complete manipulative two-faced bitch at calculated times
You were just a self-aggrandized asshole caring more about the prized stallion more than tony the pony
She received treatments for a time, and then adamantly refused because she was fucking crazy
You never received correction or ever accepted therapy though
Your excuse?
You didn’t want to lose your kids
Your excuse?
There were no counselors Christian enough for you
Your excuse?
Secular psychologists couldn’t or wouldn’t empathize with you
Her excuse?
Does she even need one?
She was sick
Her natural personality was triune
The frenzied wrath of a father, the fleeting wind-likeness of spirit, and passibility of the son all wound together in one flesh
She was fucked up
She was literally insane most of my life
But you?
You’re a prized stallion
You’re a former athlete
You’re a soldier and patriot
You’re sovereign and national
You’re a prophet, priest, and king
You’re a martyr, shepherd, preacher
You’re now a doctor, too
A man after God’s own heart
Look at what you built
Look at what you defended
Behold what you have sustained
Your career of presuppositionalist herem had much success
Like the late great Mr. Pink
Sipping communion at home until his dying day because no one was as prized as he was
No one sustained what he had
Not one soul on earth fought tyranny and built walls of estrangement as high as him
Praise Obama
Remember that letter of her excommunication that my brother and I wrote?
Me neither
I remember you writing the whole thing and telling us to lie for you to the session
Remember how good at chemistry, and math, and history I was?
Me neither
I didn’t have to be
You either left the answer key lying around or you were too busy building God's kingdom to follow through with love and attention
You left all that for an insane woman to take care of—absolutely brilliant
Why did I become an addict at age fifteen?
She bought me cartons of cigarettes
Bribing me to steal from you
You modeled resentment and bitterness
You sculpted an image of war propheteering
You recited the grace of God's Law
You delivered the real goods nobody else would
You denounced all cowards for their pablum
Whose habits do you think contributed most?
Perhaps that's a false dichotomy?
The great irony of puritans is that they can’t r/e/a/d
The great tragedy: they insist they can
Because they know they’re clever
And they truly are
They wave their God-in-paperback around in ways that would still make John Knox proud
Upon the first blast of the trumpet
Against the monstrous regiment of women
She received the capital punishment you thought she deserved
To which is added
The contents of the second blast
You became sovereign and she became homeless
Death is right here—Be sober o soul, and read between the liens
