Weasel

bouncing prayers off the living

 

my boyfriend asks me if i have religion,

i tell him that i offered prayers to the wind

in hopes of one day growing whole

but being whole isn’t about god

it’s about finding the strength to love yourself

because the bible belt has instilled

the fear of angels in your heart

 

he tells me that our beliefs make us people

give us our traditions and the manners

to live with one another

but i have yet to feel human inside

i have yet to feel my heart beat like the next guys

 

my coworkers ask me if i go to church

i keep my head down

say no

 

my insides feel

like burning scriptures

in the trashcan

that’s infringing

on their rights

and i’m not human

enough to protest their beliefs

 

i bounce poems off skulls

at the poetry show

but poetry isn’t strong enough

to keep the audience awake

they’re fading in the seats,

i tell myself social media is an outlet

until i see the thick skin devils inking

facebook with misguided hatred

towards immigrants and other gods

 

pray for america because she needs it,

splattered all across the blue and white screen,

but prayers eventually fall through,

the country’s backbone is giving out,

 

i am tired of your gods and your offerings

i can’t look at other people

they’ll pray for me,

the bondage that keeps my sanity at bay

how many of them have a bullet to give away

they grow tired of the conversion process?

 

my boyfriend tells me i should find a god

all i can think of is reimagining myself

every time i die

 

there’s beauty in destruction

before you’re reborn

 

he rests easily nowadays

i’ve forgotten where he mails his prayers

i often dream of what it is like

to simply live without the spirits

tagging alongside you

 


Weasel is a degenerate writer who received his Bachelor of Arts in Literature at the University of Houston-Clear Lake. He currently uses it as scrap paper to fuel his two publishing imprints Weasel Press and Red Ferret Press.

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