She was beautiful;
and hard to understand.
She wore two big hoops for ears,
sticky shades of pastel for her mouth,
Thick layers of mascara became her eyes,
And she walked on platforms made of heels
But every Sunday she refused to kneel.
She would ask the moon for guidance as blasphemy enticed her lips.
And faith lost all meaning
As she wished on stars that pass her by too quickly
to even acknowledge her existence
But at least she knew they were there
The trails of dust were just enough
To maybe fill in that empty crevice in her chest
She worshiped the bartender.
And the mountains offered her all the peace of mind she needed.
She prayed to Versace.
The rain, and the hail, and the sleet and the snow covered all her guilt.
She professed all sins to her drug dealer.
The canyons knew the depths of her soul.
She knelt to all forms of currency .
The oceans were her serenity.
And she gave her life to any man that was screwing her currently
Because she was beautiful
And hard to understand
She was losing her senses
Unwilling to admit that her mind was demented
She once put her faith in a wooden cross
Leaving her with nothing but a heart full of splinters
every time she even passed by a church It felt as though the flesh was being ripped off her skin
It took everything in her to realize that her dreams were frozen and melting at the same time
She couldn’t bear the expectations
Or stand up to the damnation
While the shame of having doubts piled on even more criticism.
Why put faith in something that you can’t see!
Where is the reassurance in an invisible God?
If the usher is a crook,
Decan rolls dice,
The Sunday school teacher goes clubbing
And bishop cheated on his wife twice.
Where is the reassurance in a twelve year old girl screaming pastor please don’t touch me there!
If that’s the case, then galaxies don’t exist
The expansion into nothing is beyond human vision
and Microorganisms are a figment of the imagination.
digital financial transactions don’t count as a purchase.
Promises are disposable.
the afterlife is a myth
and miracles don’t happen
Just because she’s never witnessed one
She worshiped spirits not through
Broomsticks and cauldrons
Hocus pocus and magic
But by fearing life itself she magnified the power of the death
her faith had become a displaced child
tucked away in the corner of an orphanage
Her eyes were always dripping
Creating the shallow puddle that she stood in
Pain entered every crevice of her body
But it was nothing that the doctors could heal
The idea of finding revelation in a higher being was disgusting
She found truth in materialism
And dressed up the idea of freedom
But no designer or name brand
Was ever fashion forward enough to rewind her past
She had long realized;
Looking straight in the mirror is a lot easier
than straining her neck to look towards the heavens
Because she was beautiful,
And hard to understand.