Sympathies for the Preacher

I see that depraved preacher man

Spewing at me variations of hate

For knowing variations of love,

Male, Female,

Romantic, Lustful.

In the shallowness of skin deep I have learned self-love.

I have found beauty in my body

Where I once could only envision the brokenness

A gaping hole where my heart was.

For so many years I had to reject what I felt

Kept pulling chunks of myself out

In hopes of hording it away from prying eyes

All thanks to those who told me

That loving everyone in-spite of gender

Was wrong,

I was wrong,

Therefore unreal.

 

To this cross preacher man

I don’t exist.

Though

I stand before him.

My arms about his waist

As I try to take some of the burden

Of all the agonizing

Via osmosis.

His fists slam my back

Screaming as if my touch

Burns like Dante’s fire.

Looking into his eyes

There is rage,

But there is an undercurrent of fear.

He fears me; he expects me to rear up,

Devour his heart in a shower of biblical gore

Taking the remains of his soul

Down to the pits below.

 

“Preacher man, tell me,

Why does Christ’s sacrifice not apply?

Are my sins of love so great?

That Jesus will overlook the salvation of my soul?

Last I was told we are all God’s children.  

If my ill desire to base my affections on gender

Is a sin

I welcome that sin gladly!

Please,

Don’t forgive me my sins

Dear Preacher man

For I have loved

Far too deeply.

Please

Dear Preacher man

Never forgive me my birth,

Your all-knowing Father saw fit

To bring forth my existence”

 

He clutches the bible to his chest

As if it were a shield

Capable of deflecting words

That pour like water

From lips

Shattered by blight

By unhindered smiles.

Pleas

By eyes

That melt away to tears

Composed of notes

Penned in joy and pity.

 

“Even in the science you dread

I am one that is wanted

Because in the teeth

Of such stupefying odds

I won the lottery of birth!

 

The rage sickness consumes

As you go about this place

Trying to ram those contaminated needles

Into the flesh of those who want for nothing

Except the rights awarded to others

For being born loving the right gender

 

I can only imagine the pain you feel

When wrath chokes your sympathy,

I don’t hate you.

I can’t hate you

I can only pity.

You will spend your life hiding away

You will spend your eternity

Afraid.”

anti-lgbtqGod and ScienceLGBTQLGBTQ history monthLGBTQ poetryLove and loss faithless religionpoetrypolitics and religion

◄ The Self

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message