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.