My metaphorical gun has run out of bullets, and not one of them has found its way into my head.

I put a gun to Gods head. He smiled, and held out his hand, revealing six spent gun casings. I pull the trigger anyway, and as time goes backwards I return to the ****** void from which I emerged. Too young for a gun license; I'll have to try again next time around.

In the meantime, God plays games with me, and I am powerless to intervene, powerless to put a stop to this simulated insanity. God only gives guns to men.

We live.
We hope to love.
We die.
When we die,
will this world end up being what we had hoped it would be?
I want to live.
But I need to figure out what that means first.
I've been taught to believe in God.
I think I do.
I haven't really figured out what God means though.
When I think about it now I suppose I might not.
I don't want to understand everything.
I try not to ask for much.
But there are some things I suppose I would like to understand.
Do I really need to spend my life trying,
so hard to please this unseen entity,
just to get to "eternal happiness"?
I'm tired of hearing the excuse,
"God would be angry with you"
just to get our children to treat each other with care and kindness.
I believe in faith,
I don't believe what it's turning into though.
I don't want to just have to believe in God.
I want to believe in this life.
I want to believe in the earth,
the sun,
the stars,
one another.
And when my time comes,
whenever that may be.
whether he is there or not,
I hope that I was the best person that I could be.
Because in the end,
we only have ourselves,
and I don't want to end up with a "me" that I can't live with,
because if eternal life does come after this.
I don't think I could survive.

So unclear, some find it
Nuclear!

Mothers don't allow their young daughters
to experiment with make-up until old enough
but I had no choice but to bring a brush to my face
and paint the canvas to hide each blemish.
Long sleeves, loose scarves, fitted jeans,
anything to hide the daily playground ritual.  
The swing I experienced was not hanging from chains
but rather from the tightened fists of someone I once knew.
I found solidarity underneath the weeping willow tree
as we sobbed together in the cool air of November.

You were dating that girl from heaven
So angelic yet mind so brittle
You took her to better places
And gave her things you couldn’t give me.

She’s polite, all tender hand shakes and smiles
And she’s even nice to me to be on your side
She’s not the stereotype of perfect
Cos she’s got a dark side but it’s worth it
Cos I bet you want to see her naked
And I bet she looks better than me
And if you do something wrong
She’ll never tell you.
Nearly perfect.

So why

You were dating that girl from heaven
You were dating even when you didn’t know it
Your walks were romantic and flirtatious
But oh so gracious
And so ungraciously you fell for her
And bought her better perfume
But I wasn’t in competition
Now I don’t want to be involved -
With a silly girl from such a tragic, lethargic world.

So why

I hope you and your girl from heaven dance in woods
And run on hot coal together
I hope your love isn’t based on words
I hope she offers you things I never knew
And I hope you get her name tattooed
Girl from heaven, thank you.