I Weaponized My Words

I weaponized my words

as truth-bomb cannonfire.

Quite frankly, I’ve had enough

of the charade of playing holier.

You point a crooked finger,

smiling as you kill.

Maybe you didn’t pull the trigger,

but you align with a culture that will.

You go to church on Sunday

and wear the false-humility veil.

I don’t see you doing the work.

There’s no dirt under your fingernails.

Yeah, you show up and pass out canned food

shortly after it has just been bought.

You don’t get to say you worked the streets

when you never left your church parking lot.

You don’t meet people where they actually are.

You use their poverty as your torch

to lure them where necessity begets,

to lure them straight to your elaborate front porch.

Your mission trips just look like vacations,

and maybe you did some good deeds along the way.

You go back year after year to save souls and

to teach them in person the way you pray.

You call that sweet salvation.

You have saved them from the eternal flame.

All I see is you, you, you.

The Bible never once mentioned your name.

I read “pray in secret.”

Your left hand shouldn’t know the deeds of the right.

Yet, you’re the poster child for Merican Jesus Christ,

but you won’t vote to help human plight.

You call yourselves the Body of Christ.

You say the Kingdom of Heaven is magnificent.

But if bodies within the Body are melanated,

then they’re somehow less significant.

In case you don’t know the history

or just don’t care to learn,

I have a honesty missile just for you,

Jesus Christ was Middle Eastern.

Nah, maybe you didn’t pull the trigger.

Your ballot promotes a culture that will.

So, I weaponized each and every word

to launch truth bombs from my quill.

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