Building My Own Palaces

“I’m a satanist.”

I say the words before I could stop myself. They’re not true but I know that they will trigger my mother and I wanted so badly for someone else to feel the emptiness I felt, to know that what you want to believe isn’t always correct, to know that someone you love disagrees with you so strongly and uses it to hurt you just because they wanted to change the conversation. 

I am not a satanist, but I don’t see them as wrong or as bad people because I have learned the meanings behind the words instead of the first definition my eyes fall upon or that my ears are forced to listen to. I have grown to respect people of other religions and my thirst for knowledge has grown so much that I will watch as my mother cries just to prove a fucking point, 

Am I a Satanist?

Maybe in my mother’s definition.

But in my own words, all I can say is,