I can count the number of times
I've tried to pray on one hand
each time my cries bounced off of the
walls of my bedroom
My pleads turned back into cuttlery
cutting into flesh like uncooked meat.

I walked into this church and
I thought I was attending my own funeral.
A girl with bible verses in her eyes prays for me
She says "Talk to god" as I stand beside her
Her hand is strong on my back,
Another girl's hand is on my shoulder
and I am sandwhiched in between their living faith,
Crammed into their holy corners and edges.

meanwhile there is a boy on his knees,
hands raised up to the sky touching a light
I've never known to be real and he is crying,
the tears are steaming
bullets down his butterscotch cheeks.

I've been to my share of sunday services
sitting amongst the men and women
baptised by a belief i cannot seem to get my hands on.
I dont believe in your floating-on-a-cloud-god
I dont believe in your bearded-man-god.

I walked through the forrest
found everything i needed
the chirping and mimmicing blue jay
the leaves crunching beneath my feet
and i found the sun following me with its golden truth