You might as well call yourself God
Instead of believing in Him.

The way you try to force your way.
You break
and
                     bend me,
trying to make a
"perfect"
mold of your angel child.

I am sorry but I am just not made that way.
I am brittle, I have been forged with fire and this is me.
I am no longer wet clay that your muddy hands can shape.

I am as evil as the devil himself,
at least to you.
I can see it in your eyes.
A fallen angel, not like the other ones you have now.
My fellow siblings with their wings ripped off
because I showed them what it's like to fly.
Can't have them using their own minds.

I may be ****** but no matter what you command,
no matter your petty, useless demands
I am free.
I am my own sculpture.
This is me.