I Have Friends in Holy Spaces

My childhood Sunday afternoons,

Were worst spent, in wooden church pews.

Never seeming to find myself attracted

Thus, leaving my thoughts alone and distracted.

I was an addict for attention,

So detached from the Mormon convention.

Some said I was headed downward

To serve in some holy detention,

But I told them to look forward

And check their own reflection.

Every morning all the same, drilling scripture to my brain.

I internalized my true feelings until sanity could not be contained.

Every Sunday, despite protests,

I came to church in my Sunday best.

It wasn’t a case of strife,

It was simply my life.

Seventeen years, and I’d had enough.

It was time for me to get tough.

My disinterest, I addressed,

Then, sent my mom into cardiac arrest.

Family discord ensued with a wicked spiral,

It spread through the church, and the news went viral.

To them I was a nuisance, a scoundrel and hellion,

Ready to raise the dark army of Satan.

That was the problem, they only saw black and white,

And with me, that didn’t sit right.

Stay on their side, or else you’ve been bad.

That seemed too alienating, and that made me mad.

Constantly seeding my sad inhibitions,

A Sister’s shadow casting grand juxtapositions.

I had no choice, but to do as told,

Until college came and I could not be controlled.

The ever evolving family dynamic

Became a concept much more dramatic.

I kept to myself, and stayed concise.

My actions, at home, tiptoed upon thin ice.

I stuck to my gut with some good advice,

Because my family, at home, was not always as nice.

It was hard for them, for they couldn’t perceive

That their son could care less and didn’t believe.

Fall came, and college beckoned for me to leave,

And as an undergraduate I found I could breathe.

It’s not to say, a Mormon, should no one be,

Just that the church was never for me.

Although I hate platitudes, to sum up I’d say

That I’ve learned a tough lesson the long and hard way.

There is no one in all of existence, but me

To tell me who I am or what I should be.

To be honest, I’m not yet sure who it is that is “me”,

But I will search every day for truth and consistency

Existence has made me feel awkward, and lost without trace,

And I’ve learned that it’s not always about getting first place.

With only a little more sense of what is true

I continue my step, and wander through

The never ending and, oh so intricate, rat race.

Life; the strangest phenomena to ever take place.

This poem is about: 
Me

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