You vs. God vs. Me.

If I was God I would drown the world too.
But first I would pick up my people like dolls
and carve gills into the thin skin of their necks,
and call it preparation, call it guidance, call it love.
It hurts like hell, but now you can breathe, my child,
stop gasping, please, I did this for you.
God lived in my room, in the corner,
seated on the particle board desk,
pressed like weeds between the thin sheets of
the new and old testaments.
God may have wept as He watched,
but He watched my muscles twist beneath his,
and suddenly God was out of miracles,
suddenly God became man.

Does God give His hardest battles to His strongest soldiers
or to His worst disciples?

When you crashed your car your mother
sat you down and pled with you,
Baby, God is warning you, so please listen,
please think about what He’s trying to teach you, my child, my love.
Of course God wanted us dead.
You, His youth group leader in training,
Me, your brief queen hissing heresy every time I said I love you.
I wept for you and watched as you learned to call yourself
a dyke before you would ever say the word lesbian.
I didn’t listen to the warnings He gave you,
just as much mine as they were yours, like all of your pain became.
And He took you from me, from yourself, quickly.
And then He took me too.

You said you were afraid of dying.
You were afraid of the hell that yearned to catch up to us,
like we weren’t already living the hot punishment
of a boiled-over love.

In the wake of disaster,
I can see how maybe we really were wrong.
We should have listened, heeded the call.
Or maybe we were never
Me vs. Your Family,
Us vs. Your God.
It was You vs. Yourself.
And you could have won.

If the world began flooding around us,
I would have swam to you everytime,
I would have carved our necks,
I would have learned to fly
helicopters to the tops of mountains,
I would have sent a final avalanche
and we’d leave the stratosphere in a homemade spaceship.

God cannot find us if we hide,
if we just keep refilling the gas tank,
if we reread Leviticus,
and cross out the parts that we don’t like.

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