Month: August 2019

First I was blue, then I turned black
Then I was grandma’s pumpkin and nothing was sweeter, but that didn’t last long
I rediscovered my parents and tried to figure out whose girl I wanted to be, neither chose me
For one I wasn’t smart enough and for the other I wasn’t feminine enough; So I took to the streets for my identity
It turned out I wasn’t hood enough, slim enough, fun enough, light enough, dressed enough, undressed enough or black enough
It appeared my complete sentences and lack of guttural vocabulary marked me as other
My clothes well chosen to fit my slightly round frame, chosen to cover my shame marked me as strange
The lack of control over the skin that you see, the eye that’s not cross but wanders left or right still notices that you don’t see me, the real me
So I return to the church hoping this round will go better than the last, sitting Sunday after Sunday and I can’t help but feel that you still can’t reach me
Jesus walked on water but I can’t swim, does that mean we’ll never meet?
Preaching about hope but never addressing the reasons I can’t cope; saying God is good all the time but never really melding theology with my reality
Opening the altar week after week, but never teaching me why when I get off my knees my issues get off theirs too
I’ve been taught that church is sacred, my job is secular and the way people make me feel is profane, but how can God be on time if He’s only present one third of the time
If this offends you then I guess I’m not as saved as you, but lucky for me, I don’t have to be