Catholic

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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.  
  The only time I believed in you,
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…
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