My Own Father’s House

Why do you make me question my manners?

Make me question my self worth with your travelling eyes distancing my head to toe in slow ridiculing motion.

Why are you quick to find faults in the way I speak to you?
Going through my words with a fine-tooth comb,
Ensuring my self confidence doesn’t rise above your pride.

Why do you make me question my manners?

Grading my home training with how far low I stoop in greeting you,
And how well accentuated my salutation is.

Why do you make me uncomfortable in my own father’s house,
Where I come to find peace in my darkest days?

Rather you summon the clouds,
And make it rain cats and dogs down upon my soul.

For ye that have conscience:

“If anyone causes one of these little ones to lose faith in me, it would be better for that person to have a large millstone tied around the neck and be thrown into the sea.” Mark 9:42

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