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Lauren A Todd Mar 2015
Step into your holy church and rinse off the nightmares that come in the dark. Partake in the communion of wild saints.
Sip the water trickling down your cheeks,
And maybe you think of biting off a bar of soap in case it will cleanse the unholiness of your insides.
Shed off those dead layers.
Step into the sanctuary of immaculate reconciliation.
Go forth into a new day.
Repeat as needed.
Andractive Mar 2015
"you'll never find someone who'll love you the way I did"

God, I hope I don't .

you loved me in a way that made my insides corrosive and that's probably why I felt as cold and empty as a church confessional when you entered .
Chii Mar 2015
they say that if you visit a church for the first time, God will grant you one wish

if that's the case then I will go and visit all the churches here in the Philippines and use all my wishes to wish for you

- MMM
Ministers usually detect the stink of pews when they’re empty.
Theodore Bird Mar 2015
Baby lives in memories,
     his smile lives in broken school-yard promises.
Baby lost himself,
     gentle whispering between two boys underage.
Baby cries to sleep at night,
     stealing a Corot off the wall to feed a lie.
Baby still has belt scars,
     baby still knows the Lord's prayer.
Sunflower boy, bird-***** boy
     with ***** knees from church,
patron saint of flush-faced virginity and angel tears.
Reminiscent of Lucas Valentin.
Megan Hoagland Mar 2015
Do you know who I am outside of church?
There's life amidst death after all.
I'm not a scholar.
I'm not a saint.
And I'll admit
I've professed stupid things,
All in your name.
Questioning my beliefs.
Bobbie McCord Feb 2015
I gaze at him from across a sea of bowed heads.
The steady, calming voice of prayer echoing off
stained glass windows, which bring in a soft rainbowy light.
The lighting is soft, intimate,
but this distance between this man and I is not.
He is too far away.
This distance, an alluring mystery
...but also a heartbroken torture.
I long to touch this man I do not know.

Who is he?
Broad shouldered, mischievous grin, with
warm eyes that melt like caramel,
I wish I could look into them, if only for a second,
just to see what kind of soul resides within this handsome man.
For my mother always did tell me: "eyes are the windows to the soul".
I wish I could run my fingers through his hair,
which is dark, like his humor. Or so I've heard.

He walks my way, maneuvering the clusters of people expertly.
He is dressed up, snazzy like always...
as he walks by, his eyes catch mine
and his mouth quirks up
at the corner. He winks at me,
leaving me praying for the ability to breathe right.

Oh, how I long to know this man,
and kiss this man, and hold this man,
and lay in his bed in the depths of night.
His fingers entangling in mine like fresh-water kelp,
his lips my savior from drowning in the loneliness.  
Nothing else but the cricket's chirp,
moonlight's gleam, and sheet's rustle,
and the comforting warmth of his body next to mine.
I allow myself the pleasure of basking in such a bliss.

Until a blurry sun bubbles up from the horizon,
and I wake
to a pair of curious eyes drinking me in.

I wouldn't mind getting drunk off of him. No,
I would not mind one bit.

Maybe this is just a dream...
somebody pinch me so I know this is real
and not just some fantasy.

Reality pulls me back into the chasm of the church,
and as he is preparing to exit, he looks back
and we share another glance,
s t r e t c h i n g across the pews,
a lingering,
sparkling,
moment.
Searching for the cause for such curiosity
in each other's eyes.
Trying to make sense of it, I tilt my head down,
allowing myself a moment of thought.
My head snaps up, courage pulsing through my veins,
like I have just been cleansed, I feel refreshed.
I start making my way towards the doors to ask him his name,
but to my disappointment...
he is gone.

This mysterious, entrancing man has walked out.
The brightness of a rising run enveloping him,
leaving me with a mouthful of unsaid words
and a mind full of scattered imaginations.

I kneel down before God,
and pray for forgiveness
for lusting after a stranger I know nothing about
while in His presence.

And with that, shaken to my core,
I put on my mask that conceals my deepest emotions,
and go about my day like nothing ever happened.
Inspired by my boyfriend ♥
Will Rogers III May 2014
I,
After
Leaving,
Have been in
The most pain,
The most strain.
It’s a good thing
I love His Name.

After leaving I feel lost.
To my life it’s a huge cost.
I find that I have been changed
That my whole life was rearranged.

After leaving my mind tries its best to cope.
It’s almost as if I’ve let go of a rope
And without it I feel so alone.
So I search for a new home.

After leaving I look for new friends.
So that a new chapter I can begin.
But in them I search for what is “wrong.”
For it’s the warmth of welcome my mind longs.

After leaving I see how I’ve been separated
From my sisters whom I am indebted.
I see how I’ve been embedded.
I see where I was headed.

After leaving I see
I was on the path to believe
That if I was to stay in the church
I must see them as the only place to search.

That I must only be with the “brothers” it seems,
That I have to wait ‘till I graduate to search for love.
You must not think you can throw out our God’s dreams
For it’s listening to Him that we find true peace from above.

Our wonderful God wants us to be in love with Him,
Not necessarily to fall in love with his bride.
Yes we should trust and listen to them,
But not if we feel Him from aside,
Whispering in our small ears
Something different,
Something clear.

He told me to leave.
He knew it would be hard.
He knew I would not go at first,
But our Lord, to me, did not bombard.
He did not give up until I was relieved.
It’s all just a balance that is off.
I feel sorry for them.
I wish that this
could come
to an
end


.
.
..

But
Should
I feel sorry
For them? Does
It even make sense
To have these feelings?
For without them I was lost.
Without them I was not soft.
They helped me become
Like the tree.

.
..
...
It’s
Like
Water from
A tap, dripping
On my head
Always

.
..
..
...
Only
To mess
With my mind.
It drips slowly, It isn’t kind.
For it wants me to go on my own,
Instead of keeping God on the phone.
The drops fall on my head one by one,
Little by little my mind comes undone
Perhaps it will never stop dripping,
Perhaps it will not stop ripping
Perhaps it won't stop.

.
..
..
...
When?
Will it stop?
Please stop.
Please.


…................................................­...................................................
…............­.................................................................­..............................................
….................­.................................................................­.................
[composed on April 3-4, 2012]
Marisa Lu Makil Feb 2015
Him
Mondays are hard.
He only wants me for my body-
For the way I was made
But he also wants me
To perform
For him.
I can never understand
What he wants from me.

I love him, but I hate him.
God, help me!
I can't do this on my own.
I love him but I hate him.

Tuesdays are light.
He looks at me like I am the only thing
In the world
The only person.
He holds me tight
And tells me he loves me
Without hurting me.

I love him, but I hate him.
God, help me!
I can't do this on my own.
I love him but I hate him.

Wednesdays are long.
He has had a
Long day
Of work
And dealing with his boss.
He will let me hold him
And rock him to sleep,
Brushing my cold fingers across his sweaty back
While he falls into a slumber

I love him, but I hate him.
God, help me!
I can't do this on my own.
I love him but I hate him.

Thursdays he is happy.
He gets to see his
Delinquent mother
And visits his
Abusive father in jail
Only to spit in his face every time
And tell him he hates him.
I don't get it.
My faith wanes more every day.

I love him, but I hate him.
God, help me!
I can't do this on my own.
I love him but I hate him.

Fridays are better.
He doesn't think about
Anything but me
We go out together
Holding hands
In dark
Theater
Seats
While we share popcorn
And memories.

I love him, but I hate him.
God, help me!
I can't do this on my own.
I love him but I hate him.

Saturdays are terrible.
He drinks
And
Drinks
And
Drinks
Until he's not the same
Person he was
On Friday.
I don't get it.
Why can't he just love me?
He hurts me
And beats me
Bruises
Everywhere.
Hidden, but there.

I love him, but I hate him.
God, help me!
I can't do this on my own.
I love him but I hate him.

Sundays are amazing...and awful.
He is gone.
I can bask in the back row of the church
Singing with my fellow Christians,
Praying with them
Not thinking about him
Loving my God
But at the same time
I know
That in a few hours,
I will have to go back to him.
To his anger
His rage.
And tomorrow,
It will all start again.

I love him, but I hate him.
God, help me!
I can't do this on my own.
I love him but I hate him.
I love him but I hate him.
It just kind of popped into my head, but I actually really like it.
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