Someone once asked me, "where is your God now?"

so I

asked the monsters under my bed

and closet critics in my head

and they all insisted that they hadn't seen my God.

The Church told me to look within--that God

was hiding in my skin--

that the Holy Ghost was just the wind

that lived within

the billows of my lungs

so I

walked up to my parish priest and bared my chest out to him

and asked him why I had to cover up God's resting place

with a bra.

My mother told me I was a whore and I swore

that I was so much more

I was God's resting place, I said. I'm the temple whore.

In my father's office was a metal safe and I cracked it open

but there was no God amongst the valuables and

the passports insisted that they were more important.

Someone wrote some dirty notes and stuck them on

a wall

they had pictures of tits on bits of bible

but that didn't stop some junkie animal

from pissing on the wall.

 

There were witch burns across my skin and

pentagon scars where I had been

branded like a sacrificial cow.

I looked for God in prison cells

and wedding bells,

but the closest I ever came to finding God

was in futile prayer

on my way to Hell.