As with much of the poetry I post here, I wrote this awhile ago and waited ’til the emotions that inspired it cooled down to calm to edit it. This piece and its few contemporaries work to never allow me to reach that calm however. *shrug* Every time I read this I’m brought back to how I felt in that moment and while I rather love that I also hate it in equal measure.

I’ve sat on this poem because I don’t like how intimately it reveals its author but, hey, why not, right? A little fear isn’t a good enough reason to hide, so here goes:

 
	Why should I pay penance for your assumption that I wouldn't 
'resist temptation'? For your belief that it's a sin? For that which
I haven't done and may not ever do? I don't understand you. 
But I used to. 
	Used to hide my truth too, amongst the bleeding ink from 
over-quoted and under-read holy books,
	Used to hold on high, horrifying epics of unforgiveable 
acts and expected sacrifices because of divine decree,
	Used to try and try and try to deny, deny, deny what was 
never mine to control.
All because I was told these terrible tales of hell fire and 
brimstone and losing my soul and PAIN. Capital pain. Capital 
punishment from the highest authority. All for Thee. All for He, 
whom we have no proof of, whom judges from above, whom we are 
supposed to love on blind FAITH. 
Faith that He is all-knowing, all-good, all-loving.
	So knowing is He, that you suffered what you did. As a child. 
I have no words for the being that knows and turns away from 
protecting the innocent. 
	So good is He, that murder, rape, torture, hate is allowed 
in His name. What man can say the same without someone, somewhere
cowering from him in fear and christening him evil? 
	So very loving, that love can be a crime. So very fucking 
loving that love can be bought every Sunday, for relatively cheap, 
for anyone of any morality, the hellish reality being that any 
human flaw can be heavenly forgiven for the right amount of earthly
currency. 
	That's what I see. But if it makes you feel better? Blame me. 
Hell, hate me, I don't mind. Because even though I don't agree 
that it's a sin - I used to. 


Jessie Gutierrez