Sanctuary Turned Prison

Sanctuary Turned Prison

When I was sixteen, my mother left her sanity in a suitcase five states away.

The church became my sanctuary

there they taught me to pray,

“Come Lord Jesus be our guest

and let this food to us be blessed”

Unless you’re a homosexual,

then we pray for your repentance

and call ourselves holier than thou.

I was raised

with the threat of eternal suffering if I ever

considered anything other than the 2000 year old holy book,

which must be taken literally at all times!

And by all times we mean except when we want to eat shellfish

or wear cotton blend clothing.

Three times a week I spent the day in church,

fidgeting in uncomfortable pews

staring at a cross on the wall with the words

“Repent” and “Rejoice” alongside.

I tried to repent

but never seemed to figure out how to rejoice.

Other girls smiled and volunteered to make brownies

they wore purity rings around their fingers,

their well manicured, pink nail polished fingers

that looked nothing like my chipped black nails.

I spent years on my knees

hands clasped

begging for forgiveness and hope.

I needed to understand it,

Why am I this way?

I received what I thought to be messengers from God

telling me that the reason I didn’t understand,

was because God only enlightened those He had chosen.

As I grew older,

the church walls grew closer.

They no longer protected me

from a screaming woman who could never just say

“I love you”

They blocked me in.

So I ran.

Ran away from Christianity and declared myself Agnostic.

Stopped wearing a cross and learned to swear,

goddamn mother fuckers want to make me holy.

They tried, they really did.

Some still are.

I get letters in the mail, telling me that I know the truth about what God wants,

and I tore them up until I realized

I do know the truth.

If I wasn’t supposed to leave the prison my sanctuary had become,

it wouldn’t have been full of darkness.