New Religion

I used to never wear a helmet or protective padding

my mother could put it on me, but I would strip it right off

because I thought I was invincible

until I saw lightning strike my own backyard during a storm

and — running my fingers down the rain-stained window —

I found a new saviour in what I feared most, because

if you aren’t afraid of God

do you even believe?

The way I pray to lightning

is the way he loves me

always begging to witness its power, its glory, its burnt scars on whatever it can get its grip on —

but never to let it touch you

he only prayed on me — I mean to me when I was far enough away not to hear

unlike my god I do not give a clap of warning

I can light a match as quickly as

I can disintegrate all the bridges

from point you to point me

don’t give me a reason to prove it

unlike my sister the shore does not ask me back when I leave

I surf mountains of waves to find out

my spot in the sunlight on the beach has been handed over to a cliff

and yet no one wants to admit which of us has seen more death

unlike my mother I can hear the whispers about the state of my fingernails but

I don’t see anyone else volunteering to dig my grave for me

tell me my dark circles are showing and

I’ll grip my neck with my fading fingertips —

oh. you meant the ones beneath my eyes

pardon me

I thought we were both talking about the dark rings clutching my throat

nothing about me screams Holy

and yet men still find a way to misinterpret my words

no means yes and

stop means please and

my mind may be numb but my body is not means I want you to help me feel even if it hurts and

I bet you didn’t know Jesus was an alcoholic and so am I and

Mary was raped by an angel of God and I wish I couldn’t say the same and

God is just another shadow to get on my knees for but

I don’t let the rug burns show because now —

now, the only thing I take off is running