For my privacy and safety, I use a pen name.
I had never understood the appeal of Christianity
Until I had considered unconditional forgiveness.
I had clenched my fists in church and picked at my nails.
I had wondered why my mother converted,
I hadn't forgiven her for bringing me into it.
I hadn't forgiven God, either
I saw a man stripped bare on a wooden cross,
bleeding, head hung, so intricately carved that you could almost see
the tears streaking down his cheeks
I had been told one thousand times over that he died
to forgive me,
yet I never believed it, I never believed in unearned forgiveness
My soul didn't need saving and I didn't need redeeming.
That was the way I saw things.
To know sin is to never be free it,
It will haunt your waking movements, like how
the eyes of Christ watch you pay lip service.
You will not know peace again.
My body and beliefs are founded on the idea that there is something
very wrong with me,
They, too, told me I was innately sinful
They have their guilts that can be whispered into the walls of a confessional
but I prefer to keep mines in my head and my heart,
and believe I will redeem myself eventually,
that I will do the right thing, because I refuse to think
that a few words, and a bible, will purify my flesh
But if that's the case, then why do I want nothing more
than to throw myself down before the altar
and demand for my wretched soul to be immolated?