I could tell you the life of a religious little girl
An angel on earth born to serve His duties.
Soft hair in pigtails and white gloves on
The tiny delicate hands
Always folded in the presence of Him
At the Church, no matter the
Winter cold or summer hot.
She'd make the perfect soldier of
What many would call Truth
And Jesus's love.
Young minds like hers always hold on to
What they are told
Even when as they pray, the world eats itself up
And spits itself back out
To leave the most disfigured, regurgitated shit.
Mommy dies no matter how hard Little Girl
Prayed for her health.
Daddy picks up the bottle once, twice, skip three
And straight to the fourth.
And as one hand holds the bottle
The other strikes whatever is close
Even the young cheek of a child who just wants to pray
It all away.
A war wages in the happy Christian home
Like the thousands that happen overseas
Mostly to those people too weak from hunger
And illnesses to fight back.
The ones who turn to prayer because may God
Deliver them from this suffering.
Like Little Girl as Uncle plays with her unblossomed girlhood
As Daddy lies passed out on the couch in the living room.
It's almost as if God wasn't listening.
Little Religious girl takes the time to ponder
As she picks up her ripped Sunday's best from her
Bedroom floor
And prepares herself for the inevitable red hot strike to
The cheek that shall come
Is there really a God?
