GOODBYE TO THE WORLD

You have nothing to offer me.
You want to trade me acceptance
for my uniqueness—No! The keeper of my soul
accepted me and freed me from your mangled mold.
You want to sell me status, World?
You called my master mad and crucified him.
I want no status except to be like him.
You’re ever promoting pleasure,
but neither joy nor peace depend on dopamine.
They’re not purchased; they’re not provided by a screen.
 
You have nothing to offer me.
Your stuff gets in the way of life.
I couldn’t care less, World, about your latest show.
I won’t be watching the movie everyone knows
since purity equals power.
Video games claim minds and kill way too much time.
So full of lies, social media should be a crime.
Less crap is more reality.
Don’t try with “experiences” so overpriced.
I don’t need all these special sights; just more of Christ.
 
It’s all waste.
 
You have nothing to offer me.
I want to learn, explore, and play:
instead of ceaseless lies and hallucinations,
blackness and silence for dreams and meditations!
I want to make my Father smile.
I want a daughter, want novels that touch thousands,
and want one human who loves me and understands.
I want to be me, fully free.
Freedom to you is distraction—a counterfeit
because you want to steal and stifle my spirit.
 
You have nothing to offer me.
It took a long time to realize
controlling yourself is what makes you come alive.
You’re dead if whims or pressures in you are what thrive:
the pride that paints your life with pain;
the anger getting you to act and then regret;
(The hurt may heal, but you’ll be making up the debt.)
the fear that freezes you in place,
replacing beauty with dystopian visions.
Apathy and indiscipline become prisons.
 
It’s. All. Death.
 
You have nothing to offer me.
Let me go, World. This is goodbye.
You already tried all your tricks to make me stay
and dangled my self-doubts like carrots in my way.
I sniffed and bit too many times
before realizing all your promises are lies.
I fix my eyes on truth and marvel as sin dies.
I’ll finish projects, not series;
forgo stimulation for imagination;
be racking up virtues instead of vacations.
 
You have nothing to offer me.