Testimony.

So. I think that a lot of people need their belief in a God. I think that some desperately cling to the idea just so they can make it through another day. I'm thinking specifically of addicts and 12 step programs. I certainly don't think this makes them weak.
Like, if I don't believe in a god then I resent anyone who does. No, I embrace religion.
Let me tell you why.
Each religion seems equally as likely to me. Each religion seems equally as absurd to me. Any one of them could be true. But I'll be the first to admit I highly doubt it. If you want to talk to me about Jesus Christ you might as well be talking about dragons or some other mythical creature. None of it rings true to me. I will listen and I will most likely be very interested in what you have to say. But it means nothing to me. It never has.
Well, except once.
I like to talk about God. And I like people to know my thoughts on it. A lot of people are really cool about it. Some aren't. But anyway.
Once I was taking care of a woman. She was dying. People get scared when they die. She wasn't scared. She was happy.
She told me over and over how she wanted to die. She wanted to see her daughter again. She asked me to pray with her. And, well. How do you say no? So I sat on the bed with her and we held hands and she prayed for her daughter. She prayed to see her face and hold her in her arms again. She begged God to take her so she could finally be with her again.
I said amen.
Even then, my words fell to the floor. We were talking to air and I truly believe no one heard that prayer except the two of us.
She seemed even more happy after the prayer. If you can imagine that's possible.
I felt worse.
I couldn't stop thinking. I don't believe in God. If there is no God then she will never see her daughter again. How awful. How unfair. What a sick joke on humanity religion is.
Anyway. This isn't some profound story. I still don't believe. But right then at least it meant something to me.
And the fact that other people believe still means a lot to me.
You ask me what I DO believe, I want to ask you why does it matter.

onelove.

i've heard people say that "i love you" is overused.
its lost its meaning.
like if we say it too much it will get
w a t e r e d d o w n
flimsy.
or something like that... i don't get it.

i've seen people afraid to say "i love you"
like it will expose them.
open them up and
invite rejection.
like they are saying it to make themselves feel better
and if it is received unwelcomed
they might feel stupid
or something like that.

don't you want to feel loved...??

why
wouldn't
you just
say it.

don't you want other people to feel loved?

i want you to know that
i love you
for a hundred reasons.

between the devil and the deep sea.

i'm just like you and you

are just like me.

if you are wondering where i learned to internally panic

despite the calm polish that gleams on my face

like plastic in the sun.

i learned it from you.

i learned to see things differently
because you never gave me a second look ..did you?
i'm just like you

and you

are just like me

i see the insecurities and the doubt
that muck up the words you mean to say. caging you up.
binding you to an obstructed outlook
you wont see around it. you just can't seem to see through it.
how i wish you could see what i can see.
and don't you wish
that i could see it all?

i'm just like you. and you're just like me.

I know what you're going through. you're trapped.

you're trying to escape but no where is quite far enough.

I know how it feels to beg for acceptance

but try to break free from these ideas

that weigh you down.

please, don't let them get to you.

i'm just like you. i know how it feels.

you're just like me.

my heart could really feel.

broken.

my heart could really feel

soothed

you are worth a million dandelion wishes

but, you know, i'm just like you

and you
are just like me.

"Why do we kill people who kill people to show that killing is wrong"

it feels like we've slipped
somehow

back in time
evolution rewinds

i thought i remembered you once,
when i ideas were presented, roads were paved.

instead we've found ourselves bearing clubs.
dirty and shivering. sleeping in caves.

every ounce of sophistication
perspired through our pores
a sweltering civilization

i could swear,
...we had somewhere better to start from
it seems to me
...we should have progressed beyond this.

yet,
here we are.
dirty and shivering. sleeping in caves.
hardly matured an inch passed beating our prey over the head with rocks.

hope dances on my heartstrings.

I can hardly focus

through the drip the drip the dripping

that echoes here.

Probably forever...
My pockets are deep with overused sayings
of hope
and the impression that hangs

from the ceiling

like icicles

If only I could see
passed the splash the splash the splashing
of the puddles it creates
here and there
that crowd my life and block my paths

Why am I holding so tight
when as sure as this frost is thawing
it will turn to icy water
and slip through my fingers
indefinitely

people say i'm a good writer.

poetic means insight
stuffed full of conventions.

poetic means nothing is good enough

to be called what it is.

we have to cloak it in similes and metaphors

before it's declaired worth

another look.

sometimes poetry

makes me sick.

Sometimes.

Sometimes.

I write down everything.

and I

I push it

to the very back of the attic of my mind.

and I leave them there.

long enough to gather dust.

Long enough.

That I can feel the moths fluttering around

and the old smell of smoldered thoughts lingers.

Sometimes when I feel brave enough

and sometimes when I feel

like I might just be
big enough this time.

I roll up my sleeves, and clear the cobwebs from my path.

And I climb the creaky stairs

to the attic of my mind.

And I tear open the boxes

and I flip through the pages

that document every stored thought

"Maybe if I had...."

"Why didn't you...?"

they fly around me

they bite and sting my skin like poisonous insects.

Every last bit of my composure

twists and chokes and bends til it breaks

and it scatters at my feet.

And everything inside of me is begging to just get away.

and I know then.

I'm far too small.

and I stumble back down

to safety.

and you must understand

how I don't want to talk about it.

you must understand

there are things that gnaw and claw and eat my heart up.

unless I keep them hidden between pages,

and boxed

safely in the deepest part of my memory.

Where I might not

stumble upon them accidentally.