via Derick Sistoso
I was never your baby; just maybe you hated me.
A mother is like a child; likewise, a child is to a mother. My maternal instinct’s voice yelled at me to pack my bags and shut my mouth. I was only a child, a child with hope and packs of wolves that shrivel and cry under the epidemic, that is my raging sea roars. I surrendered my faith under the altar—the altar that gave me reason to end it all. Another day sacrificing my life to an unknown creature that was man-handled by mankind sucked every living organelle out of my hysterical duvet. I hated it, every second, minute, hour, day, week, and year. Every part that I hated about myself was just another DNA guarantee: a family heirloom passed down from brittle children to violent kids. I yelled at the sky to fix me, yet nothing came. It was all just a hoax.
Religion is just another rule to set humanity in place. Feed them stories of creatures and gods, they’ll believe you. They never learned to question ideologies, theories, and studies regarding the theology of God. They only damned and dared the ones who explored every part of the riddled lines, that is, the holy bible. Every preach that they praise is every statement I oppose and question. They called me the son of Satan; I called them lamb to the slaughter. They sided with something that was not fully proven, and somehow, I was the one at fault?
Sardonic was one of the ones that they called me, even labeled me as a demonic loser in the school. They could’ve plastered every sentence I told them; they didn’t. We fought in classroom walls, grass yards, and hotel lobbies. They forced me to give up my faith and reason for something that gave me an excuse to jump off a building. It was never about religion; it was about coercing me into a city where life is all about undeniably devoting yourself like a slave.
I don’t care about the lies that they spread about me. They can call me the reincarnation of Lucifer if they want to—but I hope they never forget the true reason why people like me decide to leave a community filled with hatred, only laced as love to pass a zoologist's criteria. Historians will call it a brave soul; pastors will call it a lost one; I will call it a broken one.
Retiring from something that brought me Pandemonium is my special treat; I deserve it.
