It's not fear of this lethal belief resurging. It's not fear that you could sway me, nor the fear in my being so far gone, I couldn't even be swayed. I have healed past the need for a god.
It's the fear, that even with this rejection from my part, the lethal parts of it still conjecture the rules of the world for me.
That no matter what I wind up believing, under all circumstances, I am assumed to partake in the doctrine, and therefore will go on trial for one ridiculous thing or another.
Does one even truly renounce god in god's world? Is there weight to the words I keep tucked away, or of those I try to say?
It's a believer's world, utterable disdains for those gone astray, dreaded then prayed upon?
how is one to endure this isolation so long as one's forthcomings remain fixed in the wrong direction. This prayer is starting to feel like I'm being preyed upon.
This suffocating guidance dictating the rules of the cosmos, won't shut up, no matter how inconsequential and uncalled for.
I'm only a non-believer in contrast to what you believe in. I do not exist in contrast to somebody. Or something. That's not a fair state to be in.
I believe in the world and how it spins, in the swirl of the wind and how it carries departed things like my mother towards nothing and everything at once,
I believe in the sun and how it shines my skin bright, a resounding orange hue calling for the beginning of something begging to start, a second shot, something so human we forgot about.
Don't you know, if you don't set my anger afire, I am not angry at all.
I merely exist in correlation to myself, and this time there appears to be no god, so I move past it and sing a different song, here, the sun, the wind, here, the fucking spring...
What else do I need to find fucking peace within? I am light! I am ever so light! I've never felt this light! Why does that make you angry! Your god never made me feel this light!
You said you were weary of my shakable faith once I stepped into the freedom land, you said I would be changing myself once I was free to do so.
I said who is myself? What do you know of her?
Don't you recognize that I've been changing myself in the name of somebody else's scripture for the past seven years or so, and only elsewhere would she be allowed to breathe at all?
Do you have any idea what this means to me? What does your fucking god have to fucking offer me out there in the streets?
What does your god have to offer me, if not light, if not love, if not freedom to be.
I'm not angry at you for feeling that lightness through God, so long as you're not pretending, and even then I'm not angry all the same.
I do not seek to sway you or mastermind a religion out of religionless. I am only sitting at the very opposite end of what you stand for by mere circumstance.
This conflict, this contrast, this opposedness, is perhaps the worst part about irreligion for me.
I had wished upon a shooting star that our lineage of bad haircuts and lazy summer afternoons would keep us connected somehow.
I had wished that this wouldn't matter, that you wouldn't hold me accountable for this one. That something within would spark this unbreakable bond between us. It's a game of two, though.
And I'm far too untethered to allow that to happen at my expense. I can fly now, you know! I didn't know people like us could fly! Just flutter away like a soft little thing.
I don't claim to have the truth to offer you, but at least I'm honest about it. I found something that makes me feel less suffocated.
I'm a believer of many things, you know. Many of which you find no value in. you'll never be able to see me for what I truly am, nor comprehend what I've been trying to convey.
I'm not real to you. My godlessness, invalid. My degenerate existence, wasted and unholy. My intentions, corrupt and sterile.
I see you, though. I see you past the god you kneel to, past the awful and the ugly, for that's what family's for.
I see you, my partner in crime, my sidekick, I see you up until our boyhood and girlhood were interrupted. The eve before we grew. Our summer youth, our blanket forts, the trouble we provoked.
You'll never be able to see me though. Not ever. Not a fucking chance.