When religion is brought up,
I feel myself retract,
Like a turtle into its shell.
For the sake of others,
I keep my mouth shut,
But I want scream.
When I say I don't like it,
It's something most don't understand.
It is nothing more than a struggle,
A personal one,
That's grown since I was young.
At first it was simply difficult,
I didn't understand the stories,
The text confused me.
Then I realized the flaws,
While most being not what it was,
Just extremists.
That is my own misunderstanding,
My misguided opinion,
From not having someone with truth.
When I finally had someone,
I slowly had created it,
The faint belief of a creator.
Then a tragedy struck,
It broke my heart,
Shattered the belief I built.
The funeral was infuriating,
Filled with disbelief,
I sat silent and grieved loud.
How can someone so great,
Let someone like her die,
Someone who deserved life?
That question started it,
My dysphoria of religion,
Clouded in hurt.
I reflected on my past,
Every night,
And dreamed of her laugh.
How can someone so great,
Let me grow up how I did,
Surrounded by true evil?
How can someone so great,
Let someone so terrible live,
Someone who deserves death?
How can someone so great,
Let me live,
Someone beyond repair?
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Poetry
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