I am the eclectic witch
There are no gods to tell me how to live
But the wind howls my fate
Where the rain falls I will dance
Because I prefer sandalwood to perfume
I am the eclectic witch I have no coven
Only the flora and fauna
And the tip of a blade
Where grass grows I will prance
Because I prefer metaphysics to religion

I have grown,
Yet people think I have fallen.
I have known,
Yet I am tired of calling.

A mere boy at twelve years of age,
I became something frightening.
A mere child who turned a nasty page,
The change struck like lightning.

I had seen abuse,
Trauma plagued me each day,
I dreamed of noose,
Thought God would make me pay.

People met my words,
I called them ******* and ******,
Mocked them as *****, geeks, and nerds,
For my mind had few doors.

My homosexuality burned within my being,
Struggling against the bonds of religion.
I did not want people to start seeing,
My ****** "sin", fragile as a caged pigeon.

I cut into my wrists,
Hoping for some truth to seep out,
Every day I encountered lists,
Of similar youth who "noped" out.

God hated me, that I believed,
He wanted me to bleed then die,
I knew not how to be relieved,
Knowing my pigeon would never fly.

But as the abused grow tired of abusers,
I became tired of God,
Whom dealt me a life of users,
A life significantly flawed.

My situation was not enough,
For the pain did not end with abuse, or cutting,
He dealt me the deaths of three I loved,
Set on the task of my gutting.

Or so I believed at the time,
When God harbored within me.
When mythology guided my climb,
When I remained unfree.

I threw off the shackles of religion,
No fictional being could **** my pigeon.
What God would put me through all that,
Then proceed to bless a sewer rat.

What God would **** children,
What God would **** children?
You do not have an answer.
Why do children die to cancer?

I will respect you,
But I will not share your belief.
Too much pain, for me and others,
It continues to daily reap.

I have grown,
Yet people think I have fallen.
I have known,
Yet I am tired of calling.

Something that existed
Before nothing
Made something
From nothing
In seven days
Then fooled a man
With a snake
And a woman
Then flooded something
And made it
Nothing
Then gave us something
A spirit
And a son
Who was God
Or was he?
Raised from the dead
Then nothing
For two thousand years
Except a book
In another language
From another land
And you believe
That's alright
But what does that have to do with me?
The law
Spoken from your lips
Demanding tithes
Judging
Preaching
Witnessing
Praying
Laying hands
Faith healing
Speaking in tongues
Evangelizing
Lifting up
Right
Wrong
Fear
Yeah
That's a lot of talk
But what does that have to do with me?
Born of the same man
But not the same Mom
Separated
Sent away
Living in the desert
Believing in miracles
Of a ****** birth
Of ascension from life
Further revelation
The final prophet
And you believe
That's alright
But what does that have to do with me?
From nothing
Something
Primordial soup
A fish
A monkey
A man
Then death
Then nothing
And you believe
In nothing
That's alright
But what does that have to do with me?
Which miracle should I believe?
The miracle of a God?
The miracle of life from nothing?
The miracle of my life?
The miracle of yours?
How can I be sure?
How can you?
Yet you are
And I am not
Your assuredness
Leads
My skepticism
Follows
The more you believe
The less I do
Why must I be like you?
Are alms not enough?
Stop shaking my shoulders
Stop telling me I’m going to die
Stop telling me I am not chosen
Stop telling me only idiots believe in God
Stop
I met you forty years ago
Then again
And again
Each time
A difference face
Each time
With the same message
Believe
Don’t believe
It never changes
So stop
Please
I've heard it
I've thought about it
I've felt it
You cannot reach me
Only I can reach myself
I know how bad I can be
I know how I hurt others
I know my capabilities
I know my limitations
I know I need to forgive
And I know how I feel
I know
Ok?
So you live
As will I
Let me follow my path
It will be unspoken
I cannot tell
I will not tell
Maybe you will see
Maybe you will know
So
As you follow your path
While disapproving of mine
And you find yourself
Trippin'
Because you were judging my way
Instead of living your own
You might ask yourself
What does it have to do with him?

Three decades back,
A communist,
As a fad atheist,
To my chagrin
You taught us
"God doesn't exist!"

To my surprise
After mass
I saw you yesterday
Kneeling down
Hands upward
Wholeheartedly when
You Pray.

Out of His mercy
And benevolence
No doubt
God will forgive you
At once,
For what matters
Is your repentance.

But  I can't help to ask
What will be the fate of
Of those credulous children
At their formative years
You sent off the track
Without a mental map
To return back?

Don't shut your eyes.
Give no volunteer.  
They will speak for themselves,
fall over your cheeks,
and mirror your pupils,  
as they roll back,
pulling your conscious with them. Hesitating only enough to leave it behind. But consciousness is always best
kept at the border.
If you find you've been left with enough
to remain alert,
by then, you will be dreaming.  
A distorted image
of prominent conversations,
or any notions with the significance
of being sufficiently alien.
The narcotic superlative,
naturally expressed.
God's allegory of home,
fully understood,
only by those
who discovered it deeply enough
to make it a reality.
But I had always been a skeptic.