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Sinner or Saint

Part 2 - 6

By Irene MielkePublished about a year ago 2 min read
Sinner or Saint
Photo by John Price on Unsplash

Self-inflicted heartache, I cry to my creator above.

Seeking my faith, I desire unconditional love.

Silent, I'm home now.

Silent, I'm in my bed now.

Sounds, sounds of insomnia, hallucinations, I can't sleep.

Scratching my head, I'm in depression so deep.

Snores, finally, I get two hours of rest.

Scared of the unknown, I feel cursed; they look blessed.

Spoken word on the radio I wake up from the pain.

Speech is so powerful; they sound so sane.

Sunrise rise, I get ready, and I clutch my purse.

Sacred place - I must now go to church.

Sanctification: what is that?

She is spying on the first lady in her fancy hat.

Spell on me from the psychic world; I need clarity.

Search for the spirt world; I want back purity.

STDs are a real thing,

She's talking about her engagement ring.

Satisfaction, still, the leaders don't hear our cries.

Sacrifices in my poverty as I give my tithes.

Slavery is the message the pastor is preaching

Submission is what he's teaching.

Servanthood - what does he think I am - forever a shell?

Success - he thinks I'll meet the inner beauty of a beast like Belle?

Screen on display is so big he's mastered the keynotes.

Scandal ahead as he bribes with church quotes.

Seashores of his vacation with his wife to another resort.

Sociopath behind closed doors, as he threatens me with the court.

Shy, I've become.

Seduction is his game; his wife called the police; I'm so done.

Seal a message on a card to say my goodbye.

Shine a candle, I try.

Sensitive inside, I'm traumatized.

Spiritual abuse; I hope he's sterilized.

Speak up, that's what I do, and then it's me they remove.

Silence, they praise him, in denial that he's smooth.

Seductive, now I look.

Self-righteous as they hand me their holy book.

Seriousness and sadness reminded me of everything I've overcome.

Status and abuse of power, in their eyes, they won.

Sorry, a word I'll never hear, nobody holds preachers accountable.

Self-pity - my psychiatrist says my feelings are understandable.

Suicidal, I've become hopeless.

Set-up, I've become soulless.

Sickness and death have become my obstacles.

Shopping my trauma is their drive allowing them to deny why I'm talking to constables.

Surgeries, I'm starting to wonder how I'm alive.

Survival, God started my testimony at five.

Scandal continues; now they think I'm obsessed like his mistress.

Seizures and headaches; I can't even talk about my emotional distress.

Spinning head, doctors, telling me I'm an inspiration.

Self-study, through this revictimization, as I learn meditation.

Sanity, the church people say - why aren't failures included?

Secluded like isolation - I feel so excluded.

Sun, come up; it's a hierarchy system they need to rearrange.

Salvage is necessary for adaptability and change.

Structured in life by my values, I love them still.

Separated by experience, I take my pill.

Serotonin and dopamine, I'm finally healing.

Selected as god's child, a story I'm no longer concealing

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Irene Mielke


I am Irene. I am an aspiring blogger and writer looking to influence the next generation towards their dreams. I want the rest to know that age is just a #, and you're never too old to begin a new dream from scratch.

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    Irene MielkeWritten by Irene Mielke

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