"To Play Chess"

While teaching my 12 year old sister how to play chess,

she referred to the king

as god.

I replied, “no,

the king is a king

and we, the players, act as gods.”

But when on a large scale,

in reality,

God,

has lined up humankind on black and white squares pitted against each other.

 

God, if you’re there, why did you make the queens stronger but the kings more important?

Why was Eve lifted from the rib of Adam when man only ever emerges from woman?

 

Why did you make promises in different languages then let them translate into contradictions?

Thou shalt love thy neighbor how you would love thyself,

but what if the way they love feels like hate?

When they aren’t allowed in the very house that praises you for your sake,

they claim they’re doing it in your name,

like they’re so insecure of the faith that they carry in their hearts they ignore the fact there’s room for other things.

God, why’d you let there be room for other things?

Knights stand guard around our heart but let meger pawns in to wreak havoc on queens

while they pretend to be kings.

 

God, if you exist, why’d you make faith such a fragile thing?

Are you as broken and insecure as we- are?

Are you a self hating god?

Is that why you hide

in children’s stories and metaphors,

in the branches of a tree littered with things to keep your creations out?

We were sculpted in your image after all.

Does your anxiety plague you like the locusts you promised Egypt?

What would you do if you stopped receiving all the credit and in turn get some of the blame?

Is that what you’re scared of?

That the last ones that love you will see you are nothing more than we are?

Is that why we can hurt each other so bad?

We are filled with such hatred and rage

but you are eager to see just how much we can take.

God,

do you ever get tired of playing the boogeyman?

A monster under children’s beds looming over our decisions,

a monster only recognized by other monsters.

Why is it so hard to believe in you when we are happy?

God, if you’re there, you make it hard for a reason don’t you?

The only way for a person diagnosed with an addiction to find purity is to “find god.”

When believing in yourself is seen as an egotistical act of sin to society,

we are shamed for being unknowing yet we’re supposed to follow the just as unknowing.

To believe in you like everyone else does,

to make it so hard not to acknowledge you that we feel like outsiders when drawing our own conclusions.

 

Why’d you give us the option of free will but force us to believe.

That we should only see one way and all think they’re right?

That every move is a calculated misconception in the hopes of a perfected strategy.

Freedom to choose in what we believe to be right-

God,

when I type your name into my poetry why does it say I’ve misspelled it?

Right clicking on something I thought to be right to see it’s only wrong because I

did not grace it

with a capital letter.

When I am the one to decide who is holy enough to receive a higher persona than those around it,

I embody you.

Why must I be the one to embody you?

Can’t you take control of the pieces you sought to make in the first place?

God, if you’re there, why do you let others speak in your tongue even when they spurt lies and violation,

damnation for those who never deserved to be forsaken by you,

yet,

they still look for you in their precious poisons.

We don’t deserve to be called evil.

When you let your children be touched by your disciples.

 

Check.

 

God,

one thing I refuse to ask of you,

is to take away the evil.

You-

you created it after all.

 

Checkmate.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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