We don't believe in God

I have never doubted the ability

of a womans rage, and

the floppy arc of a chosen mans

black leather belt

marring my skin with the days when

I was ​bad, but you were good 

Monday is called opposite day

Church is where we went to pray

So why did i pray

At the foot of your anger

Like you were the God

and the sacrifice made

was my sanity

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741