She calls is jesus,
I call it chemicals.
Her enlightenment
reached in a book
of unknown origin
Sunday rituals
that remind me of
a sinister cult-like
mindset.
She has faith
in something intangible,
unprovable,
full acceptance of not knowing
Her god is an excuse.
My enlightenment,
a yellow glass design
the science behind
a lighter,
and the earth in my bowl.
A tiny blue, orange, yellow
pill, whichever is
most pertinent.
A tab, a stem, a cap, a line,
close my eyes and see
my own god in the patterns
of my enlightenment.
She calls it jesus,
I call it chemicals.