My god used to carried me on his shoulders and call me
in that voice that sounded like soft blankets and passion fruit, sweet but there was something metallic there.
My God was dark hair, slicked back and the prickle of whiskers on my peach fuzz when he kissed me goodbye.
He was a shoe in hand and a booming voice - i’m sorry - i cowered i thought he would like my pen tattoos but he wrote my sins down with large, harsh strokes and i didn’t forget.
Still i worshipped my God with birthday cards and songs in the car even when it seemed he was no longer answering my prayers, even when he forsake me i bowed down.
He held my beating heart and i loved it until i felt tears on my lips - i didn’t know i was crying - but then i tasted melancholy and bitterness and salt became my flavor of choice.
i no longer found religion in his voice. i believed in my God because he demanded as much but my God was not a God at all.
i thought maybe he was the devil, a foolish man, a stupid boy, just slick words and false hope.
i felt silly for those verses i knew by heart; i blindly followed his commandments until i found myself a wandering disciple and decided that if people were Gods i was an atheist,
what i mean is that i don’t think i’ll ever be able to worship in a church again and that maybe he was the devil after all and God and human wrapped into one.
What i mean is maybe they’re all the same thing eventually.
— i used to Believe