faith

rainbow refracted across a palm
Photo by Valeria Boltneva on Pexels.com

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

whoever

I wanna

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 accept?

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?

I know

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?”

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