Some say be patients
it takes time to measure
and debate this
racist institution
while your religious
delusions
put you right back
to the place you
started from.

I lift up my arms just to praise you
I close my eyes so I can feel you
Let your beauty sink in
Surrounded by your love
Your presence...
Here in your creation
I see you in everything
How could I ever doubt you?
When you are clearly everywhere.
Breathe you in
Oh lord your live is surrounding
So perfect and whole
I lift my arms just to praise you
I close my eyes so I can feel you
Let your beauty sink on
Surrounded by your love
Your presence...
I lift my arms...
I close my eyes...

church sunday morning
i met a guy like him
i said that he was beautiful
he told me to go to hell

and i sat down on my seat
a hundred hymns in my hand
oh i thought he was a god
but he was dying like a man

and the priest blessed us all
but i don’t need to be blessed
if only he was there
i wouldn’t be so obsessed

and we sung for the lord
our words turned into gold
religion is a masterpiece
it saves our souls

and when the ritual was done
i quitely went home
to talk about faith and belief
to him i worship the most

and on the way home to him
i couldn’t wait to arrive
and i prayed to god for him to still
be alive

but when i saw him laying there
bleeding on the floor
i just knew that god was dead
it didn’t matter anymore

Music sings as a soft river flows
fingers gliding over the white keys
Through the chapel, elegant movements
echo the enchanting melodies

Light trickles through walls of rainbow
dazzling specs on the tile
They dance to the song of wonder and awe
not having to resist a smile

Imagination runs wild through the eyes of one
Picturing a beautiful sight
for the song and the colors reminded her
of the one whom she held so tight

Dreaming to dance to this graceful piece
Gliding across those aesthetic floors
She whispered to herself, finally believing
*That she never wanted nothing more

ten days i will spend
asking for forgiveness
praying for redemption
getting down upon my bones
and whimpering at your feet.

please
kick me while i'm down.
to feel the snap of your toe
against my ribcage
is better than nothing at all.

on your knees to pray
for purity, forgiveness
no one will listen.

'An inquiry examining institutional *** abuse in Australia has heard 7% of the nation's Catholic priests allegedly abused children between 1950 and 2010.'

Can the bricks from all the churches
create orphanages,

can the cloth from all the robes
warm the freezing,

can the wine from all the altars
cheer the helpless,

can the jewels from all the crosses
fund the starving,

can the gold from all the goblets
ease the suffering,

can the wood from all the pulpits
house the homeless,

can the glass from all the windows
frame the darkness,

can the bones from all the priests
fertilize the fields,

can the pain from all the suffering
be acknowledged,

can the tears from all the children
be as witness,

can the crimes of all the clergy
be always remembered,

can the church in all its guilt
be just obliterated.

i don't believe in religion.
but if you believe that jesus
was resurrected.
that eve was created in
adam's image.
that moses parted the red sea.

that a woman cannot love a woman
without sinning.

then i will not bother you
with my love.

does that make me a sin?
or a temptation?

you say that religion is a blessing.
but for me

it's a ******* curse.

i’m wearing malbec lipstick at 330 in the afternoon, my own personal hue that stains lips and teeth, drips down my chin so a tongue flicks out to savor the drop. it leaves a maroon trace like i’ve been ******* blood.
when i swill the wine, it captivates me. like i'm swishing around my own blood, praying enough of it sloshes out to **** me.
i’m headed to catholic church in an hour, maybe i’ll light a candle for myself.
god knows i ******* need it.
i’m at that delicate lining, the in-between stage of the five stages of grief. the soft spot at the base of my skull. self-destruct button that’s so tempting, nestled between anger and depression. skip bargaining. take a trip around the sun.
i've lost my hair tie and i want it back.
i've lost my heart and i want it back. ******* give it back.
reapply mauve lipstick the flavor of malbec. go to church. rinse the good off when you get home.
i still feel him inside of me. taking everything. claiming it as his own, two hundred and fifty-eight hours later. like he’s stained me and now i'm tainted and unapproachable. undesirable.
piece of plastic wrap that used to keep his heart fresh, now i'm trash.
now i’m his.

Some days
Sundays mostly
I feel separate from time
A cold leg
A sun-warm shoulder
Roadkill on the passing lane
Quiet
Empty streets
The smell of dust and sunshine
And thoughts of nothing
Not empty
Not full
A bleach-white church
Against a February-blue sky
Evergreens
And dead oaks
Tangling ***** and muddy
How can those boards
Look so clean?