my mom always told me to smile, because I looked better that way.
I knew she meant well, but from the start I could tell that something was wrong. is, wrong.
my only reaction was that a smile is just a frown upside down.
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maybe things turned out this way because I chose to doodle in a bible, tired of studying until 10:30 every night only to fall asleep once my alarm for school echoed painfully in my eardrums the next morning.
it was like a constant ritual with no fulfillment; religion was something I never really cared for unless I had to act like so.
I didn't care.
as a realist , I never understood why such fairytales built foundations for people's lives. or just their lives in general.
no man can just talk to the voice inside their head and name it "God", parting the red sea with a stick in their hand for whatever reason they chose.
it only sounded like some man was so traumatized with the abuse from the Egyptians that he developed a case of dissociative identity disorder, or some type of schizophrenia.
that seems more logical, right?
like a mental illness adopted from the years of trauma in the desert caused them to think the sea was parted and a god had spoken—that would've made more sense to me.
am I so wrong?
why was the story of the Jews even in the Bible? a book meant for Christianity?
my mother slapped me after bible study that night, enraged that I had fact-called a religious text.
🍒
"if you're so keen to ruin all of our lives and rebell, you're no worth to me, son,"
