the lion in the story is better.

I held onto you the way a child holds onto their blanket.

I never questioned, never challenged, most certainly never doubted.

The older I got, however, the more I realized I was talking to myself

more than talking to someone else.

I realized I believe in people.

I believe in their cruelty, their kindness, their eagerness, their sadness;

I believe in their whims, their heartbreaks, their respect, their madness.

I believe in human nature, for everything it is, everything it is not,

and everything it wishes it could be.

There is pain. And bloodied rage. And anger.

And all you seem to have to say for yourself is silence.

We create what you take away.

We build what you tear apart.

We destroy ourselves without you taking so much as a second glance.

I see the lines on their faces. Wrinkles beneath their eyes.

They believe in you, but somehow, they are still thrown into the mud, as you destroy their castles in the sand.

They believe in you, and they are tired of the same old repeated dance;

The worn-out steps, the silent prayers, the false idols,

the constant thought that no matter what they do, they are all, ultimately,

sinners.

But what is a sin, if not our own guilt built for feeling what we feel,

for thinking what we think, of experiencing our thoughts and assuming somehow,

what we are has something to do with you,

when, in reality, it does not.

We shaped our own hearts.

We shaped our own soul.

We shaped our own sin.

We shaped our own salvation.

You never stopped nor created our suffering. We did.

So, if it has nothing to do with you,

and you truly have no power to dictate what is right or wrong,

We must accept you are not the only pillar for everything

that is supposed to be good,

Especially since you've become nothing more than a symbol

of all the pointless, dogmatic hatred

We ourselves have poured

Into this

world.