Catholic
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I'm a lot like Cain,
That is, I don’t think about
The consequences of my actions. I don't know
What they’ll be
Until they happen. I
But I don't know much about God
I know want to sit with him and his others
But my existence is sin
And I'll never reach what I want
Its fruitless
Whether she blamed him or he blames sheThe fall was always meant to be.The gift of knowledge,Forever blessed,Born from the woman’s mess.Yes it is she, sheWho stole the apple from the tree,
My body, MY Body.
It’s funny to think about when for the longest time
it didn’t feel like mine
Now when I trace my fingers across my arms, i am a stranger to this skin
This skin is filthy , dirty.
This is a group poem for four people, each person representing a number. I might add more to it soon :-)
1) On June 21 in UK, two citizens were attacked with acid - scarring their body
2)Just as acid hurts you physically
When we thought we were blest,
HE sent us tests.
When we couldn't stay close,
HE arose.
When we were slaves,
HE came to save.
We tried to survie,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit
Three in one, our God most high
You have made the stars burning brightly
Looking up, I am swallowed
By Your oh most brilliant sky
Your glorious heavens are so close here
Memorable Medallion
Hail Mary.
Bearing a lily, St. Gabriel does not tarry
With expostulation and adoration
Of the Blessed Virgin.
Memorable Medallion
Hail Mary.
Bearing a lily, St. Gabriel does not tarry
With expostulation and adoration
Of the Blessed Virgin.
With a long skirt and a purity ring
With hoops and skinnies and hooker boots
With a big Irish Family as Catholic as it gets
With a brother that drank vodka at the driveins
With a decently attractive hourglass body
I am
A gay Catholic
A gay Catholic
You say?
Can you please
Explain?
What’s there
To even explain
I’m Catholic
And I’m gay
But they don’t
I am from sweat and hard work,
from the searing heat of summer
and the freezing chill of winter.
I am from the horse kicked dirt,
and the cattle-branded smoke blowing in the wind.
This is my body.
I do what I want.
This is my body,
Not your’s.
This is my blood.
It will shed
Only
Every month
Of my life.
This is my body, too.
Ratchet up,
Above the exponentially farthest stars
Because there is floating heaven without a location.
The only True God, He is whom I vomit words about,
I think God has a cruel sense of humor.
Because when I turned eleven and pleaded with all my might to become immortal,
I heard Him chuckle in the confides of the newly blackened space
I write to remind myself that the sun always comes after the night.
My soul bears the teeth-marks of Guilt and Shame.
And in sleepless nights wonders how I got the name
God, I just want to know your plan.
I want to be able to count the number of setbacks I will have on my fingers.
I want to know if my heart will still have to endure more pain.
I want to know if I'll get divorced too.
I’ve always wanted to speak out,
Except I never really knew how,
But with the power of poetry and #YOWO,
Maybe my time is now.
I want to clear some things up,
Regarding my religion.
He's on every wall of every room,
Around our necks and in our heads,
In our hearts, in what we said.
He hangs on the cross,
Head bowed in shame
'Cause you can't do one thing.
They took me as prisoner
And locked me away
All the while I shouted,
QUE VIVA, CRISTO REY!
The guards confronted me with anger
They knew I would not be swayed
Because even more, I proclaimed,
I don’t write for myself
I don’t often write poetry
Words are use to express emotions
But what happens when the words don’t come?
God.
He sends a message,
a plea,
a vision.
You set the mold
Every day consists of pieces of you
Differentiate life lessons and sheer misery
I’m unable to see
That words can mean more than deceit
This can't be all that’s around me
When you awake
For a man to love a woman
For a woman to love a man
God is placed into their lives
For God to love man and women
And for the love of man and woman
To be eternal
Every day in the hallway or when I’m sitting in class,
Someone asks me a question about my religion.
I’m happy to talk about it.
Until the derogatory comments and assumptions slap me in the face.
“My pastor said this…
