Member Poem

God, if you're listening,

I haven't heard from you in a long time.
I thought we had a great thing going here, but my prayers have yet to be answered.
I know this sounds crazy, but I think that I am dead.
That must be the only answer. That I must be stuck in this spiral of hell for my sins.
That he murdered me that day when he pierced through me. That I must be lying there dead this very minute, left alone on that splintering, cold, hard floor.

God, if you're listening,

Is this some sort of punishment? If this isn't hell, then what fucked up purgatory is this? What is my test? To see if I can make it out alive? Or, better yet, to see if I turn to you in my time of need?

God, if you're listening,

Here's the thing. Why put me in this place?
Why give your "strongest soldiers your hardest battles"?
Why give me so much pain that I must reflect it on my skin?
Why make me feel shame for tarnishing my porcelain hips with marks that burn like a scarlet letter?

God, if you're listening,

I don't think I quite understand how all of this is part of "your plan".
What exactly is your plan?
Whatever it is, since it apparently involves me having to relive my most traumatic moments in my head from dusk till dawn, I do not want any part in it.

God, if you're listening,

I'm sorry if I am coming off too harsh, but don't you see that I am angry?
How can I worship you when there is so much pain in the world?
For someone who claims to love all of their children, sir I would be calling CPS for child neglect.

God, if you're listening,

Your children are crying and suffering. No matter how many times we go down on bended knees, proclaiming our dedication to you and our love to you, it seems as if it will never be enough.

So, God, if you're listening,

Go to hell.