It ain’t that I want to be offensive,
(I’m just sayin’ that cause I know I might be,
and for whatever reason it’s more important that you like me,
than you think I’m bein’ honest ‘bout this.)
but what is it that some of them evangelicals go on about?
“A personal relationship with Jesus Christ.”
Or, ya know, God.
Same thing, least to us used-to-be-Catholics ‘n all.
[wasn’t ever baptized,
maybe that’s where it all started,
but I doubt it.]
Well, thing is,
My relationship with Jesus/God ain’t what it used to be.
–used to go to Sunday School,
–came back echoin’ ’bout Noah ‘n the rainbow,
–’n that covenant against floodin’ us,
–but it don’t feel like Jesus/God’s done much but keep the letter-ah-the-word,
–real stickler for them technicalities Jesus/God.
See, I been livin’ for the last decade with somethin’-like-pain,
‘n it’s over someone else’s everythin’-like-pain.
Jesus: You’ve read the book of Job, you know it’s just a test of your devotion
Me: Yeah, I read it. But if I remember right, wasn’t it Lucifer, before the fall of course, that did all that testin’?
Jesus: Well yes and no. The translation says “ha-satan” or “the satan”, satan being more of an idea, a role of adversary, than a specific figure.
Me: You’re tellin’ me not to take your book literal?
MY sister, she’s a survivor.
That’s what they call you when you beat it,
When you take the lickin’ it gives you, stare it in the eye,
Flip it the bird, ‘n shrug it off.
‘cept, it ain’t much of a shrug,
’cause your shoulders are bowed,
‘n your muscles soft.
Beat it or not, it takes one fuckin’ hell of a chunk from you,
Cancer does.
Let’s see here:
Nerve damage,
Immune deficiency (on top of her white blood cells tryin’ to eat the skin off her face that one time),
Stunted growth,
Paralyzed vocal chord,
Problems with swallowin’,
Diabetes,
Some eat your bones crap called osteonecrosis,
Dizzy spells,
Occasional seizures,
Slowed metabolism,
Migraines,
Pain-pain-and-more-fuckin’-pain, ’cause all this shit hurts sometimes.
Not to mention constant daily reminders o’ your mortality.
Jesus/God, she’s seven-fucking-teen.
She’s been ridin’ this shit-storm since she was seven.
Jesus: You have to understand, everything is God’s plan.
Me: What plan, what plan requires a seven year old to go through the trials of Job? I know we ain’t got it as bad as some, but that don’t make it right. I get that God is this all knowin’ all encompassin’ thing that transcends all conception, that is beyond all accountability, that is entirely impossible for a human to conceive, much less understand. I get all that, but that don’t make it right, ‘n it don’t help my anger.
I’ve got this deep-gut-fire burnin’ in me,
It’s seeped in skin, muscle, blood, straight to the marrow o’ me.
Me: I hate him. I hate that he can do this to someone. I hate that he decides what someone’s future is. He gave us free will, and then he takes that away.
Jesus: But it’s just an illusion, it’s all predestination.
Me: I ain’t Calvinist, I ain’t standin’ for that. I got my free will, and I choose to hate.
She’s got tears in her eye,
“feel’s like my legs exploded into splinters”
I can’t fix that,
I ain’t helpin’.
My anger ain’t helpin’.
She needs someone to hold her hand when she needs it,
Who lets her walk alone when she can,
‘n bein’ pissed off ain’t no way to be that.
I hate Jesus/God;
My hate does more harm than good,
Distractin’ me from what needs done.
Me: I’ve got free will. I have a choice in this.
Jesus: Yes, but–
Me: I choose to abstain. This ain’t no one’s fault; it just sucks.
Ain’t no room for belief in me.
Ain’t no hate with nothin’ to direct it towards.
Ain’t no room for belief in me.
There ain’t no reason to this.
Just no damn reason.
