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Éan Richardson Apr 2014
Dear God,
Does that sound too formal?
Dear Father,
Better, I’m just not sure it’s true.
Dear Unknown Stranger,
Far away from me.
Where are you?
I know a lot of people ask,
But I’d really like to know,
Indeed, I feel I have a right to ask
You call yourself my God,
Whom I should bow down,
Worship.
Adore.
Fine.
But first,
Where are you?
Are you with the child prostitutes,
Working the streets  
Because there is no other option?
Are you with the family,
Kicked out of their home,
Because they couldn’t keep up with the rent this week?
Are you with the wife of the man
Killed by shrapnel,
At his own wedding feast?

Because, No offence,
You seem quiet,
You should speak up,
Make your presence known.
Because, God, Father, Stranger,
It seems I don’t know you at all
I sought you out and you fled.
So I tried waiting,
But why should I?!
I, whose life for you is a toy.
And since, I’m reassured,
That you have a plan.
I’d like to know it.
I think I have that right.
To ask what’s your plan for me.
I want to know how you decide,
Who lives and who dies.
I want to know how you decide,
Which children go to the best lives.
God.
It seems to me,
You favour some of your children,
Uneven handed
When passing out favours.
Did you stumble and fall,
Scattering misfortune?

Tell me Father, please,
Where are you?
I just want to know.
Where in your great,
Glorious Plan,
Do I fit in?
Because Stranger,
If its all the same to thee,
You can take your plan
And shove it up your halo.
You can take your heaven,
With its pristine meadows
Goodly people,
And singing angels.
Because I don’t want it.

I don’t want you.

Do you hear me Father?
When horrors happen,
Where are you?
Cause the priest blame free will,
But is that really true?
If you’re all Knowing,
All Powerful,
All Good.
Because you can’t be all three.

So which is it God?
Who are you?
I don’t believe in you stranger,
I can’t.
Because I think,
The worlds a better place,
If it’s a world without you.
I used to be religious. Then suddenly I wasn't.
Éan Richardson Apr 2014
Your hand in mine,
And mine on yours,
Running a hand through your hair,
as I quietly adore.
Your lips are soft,
As sweet as red apple,
As tempting as the morning star,
As beautiful as the new dawn.
So close that I cannot tell,
Where I end and you begin.
In this hour,
Our hearts beat as one.
You have my love,
Freely, willingly,
I love as entirely as I can,
As I am loved back.
My legs are tangled with yours,
And I cannot breathe,
Without breathing you in.
You are everywhere,
I am nowhere.
Desperate for touch,
For your touch.
And Oh!
If I could,
Crawl into your heart,
Become one with you,
I would. But this,
This moment,
Is the closest we can get.
So speak no words,
And kiss me again.
Éan Richardson Mar 2014
Hurling insults, trading blows,
These are the evenings I hate the most,
Let’s paint a smile for the world,
Paper over freshly wounded words.
And I sit on my bed,
The bleeding knight,
Stifling my sobs,
Because they’re don’t deserve
To hear my shame,
That I backed down once again.
I let go of what I believed,
Lost hold of what I seek,
Forgot what I’d found.
We don’t agree,
That is clear.
But why must I always be,
The one to bow?
One day, soon, not soon enough,
I’ll turn the tables,
But for now I turn away,
I hide my sorrow.
I can not look at myself,
(did you not know?)
In a mirror,
When all I see,
Is my mother’s looks,
And betrayal and hate,
Hacked into my four year old self’s face.
And why must it be,
Because you come from the generation,
Where for me to speak my mind is a crime.
Where my desire to be seen,
As equal to my brother, a joke.
And where my feelings,
Are simply empty words,
Silken cobwebs in autumn frost,
Easily brushed aside.
Had I been born a boy,
I do not think I’d have this problem.
But it does not do well to dwell on,
If’s and could haves.
I can not escape,
I am trapped,
I bolt to my hole,
Like a frightened rabbit,
But the ferret it is in my home.
Where could I go that they would not follow?
When even society itself,
Is fighting against me.
Passive aggressive.
Constantly tripping me,
Telling me how,
I should dress and act and think.
And when Victims of ****
“Deserve what they got,
For wearing a skirt too short”
And a family man,
With two kids,
Is beaten to death
Because the person he loved,
Happened to be a man too.
When young black men,
Are stopped and searched for no reason,
Other than they “look suspicious”
By a white police officer.
When people vanish,
And no one cares,
Because biology and society told them one gender,
And their mind another,
How do I stand a chance?
I actually feel pity for my parents,
It’s not their fault that
Society told them to live a certain way.
But something is their fault,
Because after all,
They’re the ones who chose to
Blindly obey.

— The End —