Slowly, then all at Once

denial

patterns  

looking back, 

denial was perhaps the most long-lasting

only nine years old when the facts didn’t line up

but the church leaders spoke for God

just fourteen and something feels off

but first you doubt your doubts

at nineteen I knew I didn’t believe that

but put your faith over fear 

by twenty-three I knew too much

Lord, help thou mine unbelief

help me when I can’t believe

Lord, I can’t play make-believe

I need permission to not believe



anger

worship

twisted histories

secrets, lies, deception

mingled with truth

our trust was our downfall

our faith our blindfold 

now unmasked, we see a god

not worthy of His own covenant

the prophets have fallen,

a willful betrayal

now refusing to prophesy

preaching only blind devotion to anything but Him 

who does not care for their sacrifices



bargaining

sacrifice

forbidden to make a deal with god,

I can only confront my own mind

if I returned to the ones who betrayed me

would the nightmares go away

the uneasy feeling in my gut

tells me I was not meant to endure to the end

but how could I remain complicit

when the chosen few are anointed again to eternal glory

where all are worthless unless worthy

when purity is more valuable than life

where the thumb is still extended, the hand in cupping shape

when forgiveness is always just another sacrifice away



depression

confession 

you’ll never believe me

but I’ve never known myself better than I do now

despite longing for this authenticity 

I wish for what was not real to be true

I yearn for the time when I didn’t know

that the opposite of faith is knowledge

ignorance, I found, is living my life in the wrong place

and I only wish I was not right

if only my guilt would purify me

if only someone could mourn with me as I mourn

if only a bottled-up confession held enough oxygen 

to survive this life



acceptance

resurrection

my god is dead to me

he resurrects in my dreams

as a mother

as a wildflower

as a breeze

each new life something a little more perfect, 

a little more worthy of my worship

they beg for my forgiveness

as I offer them up as a sacrifice

cleansing myself of my youth

in search of something finally good

I mourn their death

but in their ashes I find myself

and we are good, and we are real

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gaza, i want to see your birds.

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What Happened to the Sacred Grove?