Take me off your pedestal,
because I dethrone myself.
I never asked to be placed up there,
as some example to everyone else.
I am weak and tired and angry,
containing so much mounting pain.
My desires are not of the vitreous,
my tendency is not to abstain.
I need, I want, I desire,
the self-destructive melody,
the cocktail of self medicating poison,
that divides me far from the heavenly.
My wings were clipped long ago,
drenched in red, and painted black.
My halo torn from me without ceremony,
penance for all the virtues that I lack.
I am not nearly good enough,
for you to love me too.
I am not nearly strong enough,
to pull the whole world through.
I am not kind enough,
to always deliver the faltering aid.
I am not wealthy enough,
to render my debt of sin paid.
What do I know of saving,
I, who am entangled in chains.
What can I teach of hope,
when only my forlorn faith remains.
If I was an angel, I fell long ago,
so put me back where I belong,
knock me off this facade stage,
finally understand, I'm not that strong.
*the "you" in this poem doesn't mean anyone in particular
