if it's not something then it's not something

this one time in nazareth

you gathered clumps of dirt

in shaking fists

trying to roll away the rock

that symbolizes the most spiritual visits,

where followers find bone boxes

of supernatural hypothesis

and break down bible barriers with weaponry

and “we got better answers,

buy into this religion

and we swear your donations

will give you VIP passes to the rest of eternity”.

 

and this other time in bethlehem

you caught your breath

and wondered if

all the blood draining from your wrists

was a sign from god

as you signed the cross

in four swift movements

examining stigmata under microscopic lens

feeling hands intertwined with rosary,

trying to pray to the one’s that visit poetry

on a regular basis,

conducting an open thought process

instead of closeting this new existence.

 

and maybe you took first communion

chewing card board cut out jesus

and maybe that wine drowned your sins

and maybe you were just a little kid

so close to never being bad again

wearing white lace dress

being made to confess

to someone

that is not

even

listening.

 

some scars are of rationality,

some are of mundane verses

like when the priest says, no homo

and reaches for his pistol whip

and chains the second coming of christ to a crucifix

carved from flesh of bodies

that have been condemned

and will surely be put to death,

with their blood upon them.

 

church gossip said you woke up face first in mud

and wondered where god was

they said you woke up face first

in the sun’s alignment with orthodoxy

pretending every bullet was as passionate as you.

so now it’s time spent begging

father, could you please

tattoo my tongue with the same ink

that wrote the word of leviticus 20:13

going back centuries 

to remember that time

when jerusalem

was just a name

and not a reason to believe in

anything.

 

you bathe in pools of holy water

flowing with mixed up prayers and transgressions

looking reflections straight in the eye

as if you were the holy man,

as if you were the empty confessional

as if you were the tabernacle

that has all but burnt out.