Diary of a Weird Priest

I preach,
The gospel or a pseudo,
I trust not which,
But I preach,

I teach,
The words of my Master or mine,
I trust not which,
But I teach,

I live,
The life I was designed to,
Or the life,
For myself,
I seem to have redesigned,
I trust not which,
But I live,

I love
Not as commanded,
-All that were created,
But as convenient,
-All who to my eyes are beautiful,

So I,
Unlike Him,
Choose who I love,
The cute and beautiful,
The sleek and sophisticated,
Unlike Him,
Who indifferently love them as well,
Who are dirty and helpless,
Phoneless, homeless and cashless,
Mannerless, characterless, educationless,
And all who are less,

Then who am I?
of what seed am I made?
Oh! Then realize I,
I am a misrepresentation of my Maker,
-The Christ.

To crucify this,
I must fully come,
To the knowledge of Him who stole my darkness,
Him who then made me in so much light,
The Christ- my illumination!