Why I Hate This Worldly System
We lie.
We dress our lies in noble language
and call it principle.
We disguise selfish intent with careful words
and call it wisdom.
Nothing about our motives is elevated—
they are simply hidden well enough
that we feel justified.
We are not confused.
We are deliberate.
We know exactly what we are doing,
and we do it anyway.
We claim the righteous path
while marching toward outcomes
we have already chosen.
We speak of dignity
while serving power, comfort, and fear.
Our purpose is not subtle.
It is clear as glass—
and just as unforgiving.
This world cannot survive
on the love it offers.
It consumes affection,
uses loyalty,
and discards mercy
the moment it becomes inconvenient.
It will require a faithful love
it has neither earned nor sought,
because everything it touches
eventually breaks.
God flooded this nation with abundance—
not barely enough,
but excess upon excess—
and we turned generosity into suspicion
and mercy into weakness.
We hoarded blessing
and congratulated ourselves for being prudent.
We watched suffering multiply
and explained it away as deserved.
We do not lack resources.
We lack repentance.
And when people try to escape the machinery we built—
when they run from laws that crush
and systems that devour—
I call them lawless
so I don’t have to call myself complicit.
I condemn them
to protect my comfort.
I shame them
to silence my conscience.
I label them the threat
so I can keep pretending innocence.
This system survives
because guilt is outsourced,
because blame is redistributed,
because truth is tolerated only
when it demands no sacrifice.
It survives because people like me
benefit from it
and still want to believe
we are clean.
I hate this system
because it is built on denial,
maintained by cruelty,
and defended by people
who know better.
And the judgment is certain—
not because it is spoken loudly,
but because it is true.