You give an inch of empathy to a hidden religious majority
and they extend from the shadows to throw eras of baggage
with the camouflaged patterns of love stitched between them

Baggage of whispered systems; focus tested patriarchs
and Devils understood as your anxiety and depression
beautifully uncritical of the power structure we’re borne from

We speak together of ٭The good ones٭
The good Atheists, the good believers
Who pilot understanding above the spreading of hate

Yet, my father isn’t a fear-inbreeding tongue
My father isn’t an immaculate son
My father isn’t the centre of heart
My heart is a cruel and rejecting satan of doubt

Or, that’s how it feels
when you give an inch of empathy to a hidden religious majority
and I have to smile, nod at their nodding at me
I have to agree with their morals of unconditional love
but flinch when the eras of baggage are thrown
there at my feet. And Paul is a warm, unassuming elite