The pretty dress itches.
The weather is cold.
The Sunday school kids line up
In front of the Father.
And he smiles,
We are doing our first confessional today.
My dress itches.
I am cold.
And I wait in line.
To confess.
I am seven.
I do not understand sin.

It is my turn
The Father smiles at me
His voice is kind.
He asks me to confess.
I am seven,
And I do not understand sin.
All I know
Is that god hates you if you sin.
I do not want god to hate me.

He asks again.
I do not know.
I do not know the answer.
God will hate me if I sin,
But the Father says
Nobody is free from sin.
God hates all of us then.
I am seven
I do not know the right answer.
I do not know what my sins are.

The Father says I must have some.
I have sins?
Then god hates me.
I am seven
And I do not understand the world.
I cry because I do not understand.
I cry because god hates me.
Standing up there in the pretty dress,
I cry
Because I have sinned
And I don’t even know it.
The Father said so,
It must be true.


I am twelve.
I am in confessional again.
I know I have sinned this time.
I kissed another woman.
On the lips.
I did not know it was wrong,
But it must be,
Because I keep thinking about it.

I am speaking with the Father.
I am not speaking about the kiss.
I am lying though my teeth,
And
God
Hates
Me.

I do not want to be in confessional.
I do not want them to know.
And I cry again,
Not because I don’t know my sin
But because now I know perfectly
And I cannot say it.

And I lie to the Father
I lie about my sins,
A sin in itself. To lie.
And I am crying.
Because I am wrong.
I am wrong for loving women
I am wrong for lying to the Father,
And for lying to god.
And I am wrong.

I am wrong.
I am a sin.
Confess and make me go away.

I am not enough for you
I never have been
And
I
Never
Will
Be.

I give my everything
For you.
And it is still
Not
Enough.

Time
And time
And time again
I destroy myself
To please you
And that is still not enough
And you don’t even see
You never do
You are blind to how hard I try
You are blind to the pain I feel
The pain I bring upon myself
Just to make you happy
Because
It’s not enough.

I had to be
On death’s door
For you to even notice,
And stop me
Before I knocked.
Because
My pain
Wasn’t enough
Until I wanted to end it
All of it
Only then
Was it
Enough.

I am not the perfect daughter
And I never will be,
But perhaps
You aren’t a perfect mother either.
I will never be enough for you.
But you
Are too much for me.

Running
Faster, faster
What am I running from?
Insecurities
Pain
Stress.
Pathetic worthless girl
You can't run.
You can't hide.
You're just wasting your time.
Out of breath.
My lungs,
On fire.
What am I running from
And why?

A small flame

So warm

But oh so dangerous

"Don't play with fire!"

A warning cry, too late

Burning, pain, tears

A wick

Hot wax

And a wonderfully sweet smell

Just a tiny flame

How dangerous could it be?

Exstinguished with a tiny breath

Curling smoke

A small flame

Died

How fragile

How delicate

How deadly

The way I feel when I'm around you,
Light and floaty,
Like I'm walking on clouds.
There's an uncertain feeling in my stomach
Like a roller-coaster right before the drop.
When I touch you I feel warm,
No, hot,
Like I'm burning up.
Your hands are so warm,
They warm me
And my heart.

I want to wander
somewhere far from here
adventure someplace other than
the empty concrete streets.
I want to be at peace
not trapped in my desk.
I want to read fantasy
not bulky textbooks.
I want to feel the wind
not weak electric fans.
I want to run somewhere
anywhere
far away.

I'm tired
So so tired
Tired of all your lies.
Gaslighting and manipulating me.
It's my fault though
I was so gullible.
I gave you my trust
An unwise thing to give to a girl who often loses things.
You trusted me with your secrets
And I'll keep them to the grave.
I trusted you with my secrets
And you spread them
Like the tendrils of a shadowy beast of distrust.
Being friends with you
Is like touching a fire.
It's warmth draws you in
And the next thing you know
Your hands are covered in burns.