Candles

Just four days ago I lost my mind.
I lost it in words of, “There is no fucking God!”
And he wonders why I lost faith.
Because I watched them go to church when trials were among us, and the oldest was behind bars.
Why I don’t have faith?
The trials never ended, the cops always knocked, and I have more faith in a jail cell than answered prayers.
And today, today, we call the cops ourselves.
That’s how you ended up there, and God didn’t widen the space between those bars holding you back.
No, you waited on a system that operates nine to five, weekdays.
Too bad it was Friday, and God couldn’t speed up time.

Why I lost faith?
Because God never helped me put down the bottle.
I released my grip when I removed that cross and realized that the only person holding on was me.
You say it hurt you dad, but your God would have killed me.
So take that with a grain of salt, the smartest thing I ever did was realize that any God that there is resides inside of me.
The only actions God ever takes are those that I take myself.
But you close your eyes and bow your head.
Your God is sleeping dad, because you won’t wake up.

Four days ago, I sat with my grandmother,
Catching tears in tissues, understanding that I turned on her daughter years ago because of that man.
It kills me that I can’t seem to have both.
Then he called and I ran away.
He had to come now because five pm, he’s got somewhere to be.
I asked, “Where could he possibly be going?”
“Church.”
Ah, right, because God will fix the damage.

God can’t fix the damage.

I wonder what he prayed for as he lit his candles.
I wonder what part of himself he shows to God.
Is it the piece of him that he hides in the basement?
The piece of him, that if he were only to show us…

Your God is greedy dad, taking all those parts of you that we could really use.
Wish you would say to us what you say to him.
Maybe you actually pray about family.
But here you preach history and war, relentless.
And you wonder why I don’t have faith?
You waste your energy on melting wax and conserve the rest in the dark.

I lost it four days ago, I haven’t seen you in two, and I’m three floors above.
And God?
He must be hiding in the floorboards.

But I know it isn’t God dad, it’s you and it’s me.
And there’s nothing wrong with your faith, or my lack of it.
And it even softens my heart to know you lit a candle; that there’s something inside that only your God can see.
I just wish you carried that light home dad, instead of letting it burn in an empty church among the sorrows of the rest.

I’m three floors above and I’m scared to go where you’re residing.
Carry the light home dad, because it’s there I think the devil is hiding.