To The God I Once Believed In

To The God I Once Believed In

I’m sorry I’m a heathen

I really wanted to believe in heaven

Guess we see where that got me;

Unhappy on the daily

We’re so unshocked by hypocrisy

You don’t understand the irony

In telling me

It’s meant to be

Except if I sin unconditionally.

But what is sin

But stuff you believe in

That just isn’t God?

Spare me your judgment and

Spare me your rod…

I wanted to believe in you.

I really, really wanted to.

I went to church, I watched the news

Shared my right wing conservative views

Felt prejudice against my sisters

Coming in wide ranges of colors

And yet you never spoke to me.

Not a “hi” nor “how you been”

And not what I wanted more than such mention:

A bit of advice,
A scrap of direction.

You never once told me the secret to life

And in my heart I hold on to that strife.

I was so unhappy

Being Christian,

But also being me

Every day the things I wanted

Made me feel disgusting

And twas you who put that hate in me

For myself, o loveless being

Of love, what more did you want

Of my own self worth what was there left to haunt

And in my heart so gaunt

You found yourself a hole,

Created by you when all is said and told

And told me your love could fill

the void you helped fulfill.

Sin is the thing that makes you feel ugly

I’m sure even conservative Christians agree.

Sin is that disgust that crawls from your belly

Doing the thing anyway can be hellish

Sin is what you do despite having

The morals to understand what you’re attracting

Karma or God, it’s all up to you

To choose which kind of reputation you accrue.

And I think to myself

My own personal hell

Was thinking you were in any way there

For me when I was scared

Or hurt or even broken

You love was always so unspoken

But never really there

Was it?

Was I just delusional?

Tricking myself into a communal

Distrust of reality and vision

Just to get into some white man’s dream of heaven?

I guess I want to thank you

I suppose it was only through

the promised things you don’t do

That I was able to split apart

From my own bleeding heart.

This letter isn’t communion

it’s my last communication

To a God who never loved me

As much as I had room to love thee

It’s Easter now,

And people celebrate

The rise of the one

Their belief creates

And I think it’s a tragedy

But nonetheless a story

Of people quite in mourning

Of the God who never

Once

Spoke