I broke up with God
at our favorite eatery
in our favorite booth.
We settled into familiar creases
and asked for the usual.
My eyes lazily staring at fingers
stirring the straw around the ice cubes,
God cautiously spoke up:
“Is something wrong?”
“Nothing.” (Thinking about the dormant phone
concealing behind the lock screen
the open Facebook tab
lingering over the relationship status section.)
They silently mused over the laconic reply,
til the waitress showed up with the food.
“Thank you!” God blurted with agonizing alacrity.
I received the sustenance lifelessly
and aimlessly poked at the burgers and fries.
The waitress eyed me with vague inquisition,
popping a bubble in the gum between
big teeth, refilled my water
and pirouetted hastily.
We ate in ostensible harmony,
the silence gripping like a chokehold,
the visible anxiety and subdued resolve
settling like a stifling blanket
over the child waking
from a nightmare—
Til we couldn’t breathe,
and I ripped back the covers
and looked into the eyes
of my tormentor.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
God, taken aback by the curt statement,
dropped their burger with shaking hands,
silently begging with wetting eyes
a greater explanation.
So I elaborated:
“It’s not you, it’s me.
For your immaculate conception
was created by human hands,
your adages rendered obsolete
by human words,
your purpose and plan for us
distorted by human nature—
I cannot hate myself any longer.
I cannot pretend to know you at all.
Who my mother and father say you are
is not who my friends think you are,
nor my teachers, my pastor,
the president, Stephen Hawking,
Muhammed, the KKK, Buddha,
the Westboro Baptist Church,
Walt Whitman, Derek Zanetti,
******
and Billy Graham.
I am told you care who I bring into bed (and when),
and what movies I watch,
and what music I listen to—
I have not heard what you say about
child soldiers, the use of mosquitos,
or the increased destruction of the earth
which you proudly proclaimed your creation,
or the poverty and disease and famine
which has ridden so many of your children—”
God interjected,
“But you’re chosen!”
I snorted,
“You say I’m chosen
to spend eternity with you—
why me?
Why’d you pick me among
thousands, millions, billions?
I’ve been told I’m ‘chosen’
since birth
by others like me—
those with fair complexion,
blue eyes,
blonde hair,
a firm overt ****** attraction towards women,
and a great big house
with immaculate white fences
delineating their Jericho.
I’ve already fabricated eternity
here among the other ‘chosen’
and there is a world of suffering
right outside the fence
and I see them
through the window of my bedroom
every day.
Am I chosen,
if I don’t vote Republican
Am I chosen
if I am Pro-Choice
Am I chosen
if I cohabitate with my girlfriend
Am I chosen
if I never have kids
Am I chosen
if I say ‘Happy Holidays’
Am I chosen
if I don’t want public prayer in schools
Am I chosen
if I don’t want a Christian nation
Am I chosen
if I don’t repost you on my wall
or retweet your adages?
I’m tired
being the ubermensch,
for it has not brought me
happiness
and I blame you.
I will not ignore
the cries of the suffering
believing it is I
who is destined to live
in bliss.
I will not buy
Joel Osteen’s autobiography(ies).
I will not tithe
you my money
for a megachurch
when another homeless shelter
closes down.
I will not tell a woman
what to do with her body,
or a man
that he is a man
if they say they are not.
I am neither Jew nor Gentile,
and I will stand with
my brothers and sisters
of Faith and Faithlessness,
Gay and Straight,
Black and White,
and apart from these extremes
free from absolutes
the ambiguous, amorphous
nature of Humankind
which I praise.
There is much pain and suffering
in this world,
potentially preventable,
but hardly can I believe
it’s part of your plan
to save
me.
I will not be saved
if we are not
all saved—
not one will burn
for my divinity.
The gates will be open to all—
and perhaps you believe that too,
but I’ve gotten you all wrong
and that cannot change,
as long as there is
mortality, and
corruption, and
power, and
lust, and
greed.”
God whined, growing bellicose,
“It is through me that you will find eternity,
I am the one true god!
I am the God of your fallen ancestors,
it is because you have fallen short
that you need me!”
I replied, growing in confidence,
“We have all fallen short,
yes,
but we are also magnificent.
We have evolved,
we have created,
we have adapted,
we have survived.
We have built empires,
and we have destroyed them.
We have cured diseases,
and we have created them.
We have done much in your name.
We’ve done good,
and we’ve done evil—
And unfortunately it’s all about
who you ask.
Your name is a burden on the oppressed
and a weapon of the oppressor.
You are abusive, God.
You tell me you are jealous.
You tell me apart from you I will suffer for an eternity.
I’m scared to die, yet want to die,
because of you.
You have made life a waiting room
that is now my purgatory. It is
Hell On Earth.
So you see,
it’s not you,
it’s me—
a mere mortal
who has tried to put a face
to eternity
and it has left me
empty.
And also,
it’s me,
for I have learned to love me,
as I have expelled your self-loathing imbibition,
and the deleterious zeal
I have proclaimed
through ceaseless
trepidation
and self-flagellation—
I have learned to love me
by realizing I am not inherently evil,
that my body is not evil,
that my mind is not evil,
and, ultimately, that
there is no good
and there is no evil.
My body is beautiful,
my mind is beautiful,
this world is beautiful,
and we are destroying it
waiting for you to claim
us.
I leave you
in hopes to see you
again one day,
and perhaps you will look
different than I have
perceived or imagined,
and in fact
I certainly hope so.”
Just then the waitress strolled back up
with a servile smile:
“Dessert?”
“No, thank you,”
I smiled politely.
And with that,
I paid the check,
and took a to-go box—
walked out into the evening rain
to my car,
put on a secular song
that meant something real to me
and drove off
into the night—
feeling for the first time
free
and alive.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
quiet.
that's all I can feel in this prison
of golden statues screaming with crumbling glory and
iron bars that wrestle against
the sweat of my palms,
holding them until my knuckles are gasping for air.
silent.
all of this is poured into nothing,
into nothing
into nothing
until time has dribbled to a stop and my voice
forgets how to produce sounds.
bare.
there is an understanding in myself and the way my mind dances
across blank pages and empty stares as the flames erupt around me.
hollow.
I am at the apex of a storm that has been brewing since the day I first breathed.
I am a warrior constructed of cardboard and leftover compliments and hard-earned grins.
I am the dove that is stained with blackening ink and my
hands are tainted with the glass shards of a church window
digging deep into my palms until all I see in their reflection is
your face framed with silver thread and the
ghost of myself
lifeless
in your embrace.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
love can be a traitor take your heart then go
take away your happiness take away your glow
leave your heart in pieces fill you with despair
when the love you had is no longer there.
time will heal the hurt bring love back to you
then you can love again with a love thats new
bring back all the happiness like it was before
you can love again and mend your heart once more
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
I don't understand what you want from me.
Do you want me to be gentle and kind all the time,
or tough and defensive?
Do you want me to act like a lady,
or a young girl with a wicked sense of humor?
Do you want me to be comforting,
or to give you your space?
I'm getting so many mixed signals.
None of it makes sense.
Tell me what you want,
and I will be that for you.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
From afar, I look at him
In a crowded place, my eyes search for only him;
From afar, I listen as he starts talking
It sounds like angels singing;
From afar, I see his smile as he walks by
It feels like I am lifted up high in the sky;
From afar, I will love him with all my heart
Even though it seems like we are worlds apart;
From afar, I feel like he is mine
Wishing our hearts would someday intertwine;
From afar, I dream of him
And I know it is only there that I will have him
'Coz I know this is just a one sided love
His love, I cannot have.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
a love that does not exist in his eyes but only in mine
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
What I felt for him was love, for sure
But it was unrequited, not reciprocated
Never payed, never returned
These so called feelings grew stronger
Stronger than it has ever been and ever will
For they never wanted to be banished
I was afflicted when he posted that photo
It caused me my very first heartbreak
The pain was unbearable
Things go as they please
Feelings grow, feelings fade
I just hope I get a second chance on love
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
i push people
away.
but the few friends i try
holding on to
tend to slip
away
from my grasp.
the sensation still
r u n n i n g
through my fingertips.
people like you
leave paper cuts.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
what is not
may seem what is
an innocent thought
small things we miss
what we want is all we hear
ignorant masks to hide our faces
but don't be fooled again my dear
ugly things hide in beautiful places
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC