The other day, my sister asked about my pronouns
and it felt like a confessional–
I laid out all my sins
for her to judge them,
“yes, I’m questioning who I am
(dear God, am I questioning?)
but no, I have no intention to do anything.
Dear sister, I’m not a lost sheep,
I’m not even wandering,”
(but I might be lying to you).
I try so hard
to be the person
people say God says I should be,
subconsciously I crave to become that,
I want to be accepted–
though, consciously, I convince my mind that I’m so not into existing just for others,
I can be
regardless of what people think.
But I still go
to the makeup wipes and curling irons,
high heels and skirts like I’m trying too hard,
and some days I want to split my spirit in two:
Do I pick people to love this skin,
or do I pick me to love this skin?
Tonight, I stare in the mirror at my bare face, and thunder strikes me where I cry:
Am I only trying to look this way, because this is who I think God will love?
Will carry through all life’s storms?
The people who love me say
He doesn’t want me in my queerness, my nonbinary-ness, my they/thems and whatever clothes I want.
It’s hammered so deep in my brain that heaven’s only a place for the straights,
God punishes the wicked, rescues the righteous,
they say in church we’re here to practice and become like Him so it’s okay if we mess up
but my mind screams “there’s a difference between ‘practicing and messing up’ and ‘fleeing the flock’ and I don’t want to die to ravening wolves.”
Am I only acting this way, because I’m terrified God will cast out the little lamb locked inside this heart?
what people say about living your truth,
and I know
what people say God says is truth
and I also know
I am a contradiction of terms
I am queer
and I need God
in this storm.
“Dear mirror, tonight–I need Him to accept you,
so go be whoever you want to be as long as it will get you loved.
Or maybe, try asking it directly–
dear God, do you care about me?”