A pretty poem,

A pretty verse,

Did you forget that Jesus wept?

Don’t get me started on the ashes burned

That coat your safety net.

An ashen cross,

On resurrection day!

A spritz of holier than thou left to right,

I don’t know how to tell you again,

This isn’t YOUR god damn fight.

God damn god damn

My heathen mouth,

As you damn the cross,

The Kool aid’s bitter,

I spat it out,

And not just for Pentecost,

I wear a cross,

I believe it’s bold,

A lot more bold than you,

A lot more bold than me or them,

Funny how you chose few.

Even though you dance and writhe on stage,

A plastic permanent smile,

Have you forgotten our God was murdered and nailed,

In ways that would “defile”?

In ways that are printed and torn,

Highlighted and coffee-stained,

In ways that go without the scorn,

Of Christians© (ready-made)?

Can we stop and think and give a care

To those he asked us to?

Because asking wasn’t asking

Have you forgotten a commandment or two??

Have you forgotten that he blood he shed,

Isn’t cheapened by your name?

Have you forgotten that your stupid judgment,

Is the price for which he came?

To forget the doubts and fear

That threaten, scold, and lie,

“Why the HELL are you here??”

Why have you come to worship?

Why have you come to pray??

Haven’t you the “common sense”

To leave; take yourself away?!

Don’t you know that your kind isn’t free here?

At least, not unless you give,

Money, Time, Authority, Obedience,

That’s not MY Christ that lives.

My Christ was a poor man,

My Christ was a saint,

My Christ was a fisher,

My Christ barely ate,

My Christ rose from darkness,

My Christ flipping tables,

My Christ loving Prostitutes,

As only my Christ would.

My Christ turning his other cheek,

My Christ rending his soul,

“FATHER father, why have you forsaken me?!”

That shit never gets old.

My Christ a living sacrifice,

My Christ a bloodied lamb,

My Christ who you pass on the street,

Coughing, snorting, sticking out his hand.

My Christ is nothing like me,

Thank God; he told me so.

My Christ will go before me,

“Just like strippers booties go”,

My Christ is not like Lil Wayne,

But my Christ isn’t you,

Please don’t shoot me verses,

Let him teach us a thing or two.


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I am a second-grade teacher and pastor-to-be who loves people. I spend my weekends with friends or wandering the museums of DC alone and with a journal, trying to put words on the places of the soul that still feel wordless. I spent most of my days at school trying to learn patience through my students and running on sheer nerdy passion. I follow Jesus Christ, and savor that as my most important identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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