Fate. Complex. Church.
You should never talk about politics or religion at the dinner table, but religion is my favorite topic.
I was born Catholic, but I hated it.
By the age of seven, I knew I wasn't Catholic.
My aunt once told me being Catholic is similar to being Jewish. You're born Catholic and you're Catholic for life. You'll always be Catholic whether you like it or not. Similarly, if you're born Jewish, you'll always be Jewish. You're Jewish for life, like it or not.
When I was 18, I told my mother I was Unitarian and she cried.
In my early twenties, I identified as agnostic or atheist.
In my thirties, I was sort of agnostic, kind of atheist, but I was mostly a scientist.
Religion is complex, but I've always believed in fate and I've never liked going to church.
Today I'm 37 and I finally found God.
More specifically, I found Mr. Steve Harvey's God.
It sounds insane, but I love Steve Harvey, and the way he talks about God is awesome.
His God is friendly, generous, and powerful.
I like Mr. Steve Harvey's God.
He is kind, forgiving, and full of grace.
When God gives you His grace, He forgives you when you don't deserve to be forgiven.
Grace is undeserved forgiveness.
I found God at 37 years old when I asked Steve Harvey's God for grace, and he gave it to me the very next day.
God came through. He came through the next day. He finally showed up. I got proof.
I like to talk about religion with everyone.
Faith is complicated.
People are inherently good, but they're flawed.
Mr. Steve Harvey's God is dope.
Church sucks.
Someone tell my aunt that I'm definitely not Catholic.
Familiar...Outfit...Exchange
Black and gray and occasionally green,
I stick to the familiar pattern of how I want to be seen.
A hoodie that says "nice" but jeans that are tough.
Boots ready to kick life when I've just had enough
Some days it's a t-shirt and sweats 'cause I don't want to care.
Boots exchanged for tennis shoes, braced to run some where.
I think I have you fooled but truth is, you can read me like a book.
These outfits are way more revealing then I thought they would look.
Lace, Defend, Bang
Blood from a bruised nose
Running across her bottom lip
Dripping crimson off her chin like
A leaky faucet.
The white lace sleeves collect
The stream like a blood bank
As her varnished eyes sweep the room
Hawklike.
God, it could have been so flawless
Her love at the end of the aisle
And her in an ivory A-line treading across
Blushing petals.
Yet perhaps not all things are meant to be
She knows now as the crazed eyes of
Her future/not-future mother in law
Are wide open.
She is dead with the bride's heel
Still caught in her jugular
But it's finally stopped spurting blood
On the altar.
It had to be done, she thought
Her fiancé's mother was certifiably
Ill in the head, but the bride may be
As well.
The church itself was speechless
Christ on his crucifix petrified
As she held the dead woman's gun against
Her own temple.
Bang.
