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Sing Me a Prayer, Grandma

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Sing me a prayer, grandma.
Cuz all my life I’ve been searching for reasons
to believe in god
but I guess I’m just not cut out to be a believer.
cuz believers don’t question,
they don’t doubt,
and they don’t think,
they just pray,
or at least that’s what you showed me.

You always said one day I would understand but
I could never get it through my head why
killing in the name of the lord was so fine.
Why the holy crusades, the inquisition, and witch hunting were
allowed to happen.
Why missionaries always felt the need to spread the word
of god to the
natives, the Africans, the indigenous,
those "poor, uneducated savages"
when they seemed just happy believing
in the way of the world.

No, grandma,
I don’t think I’ll find god in your church, in dusty old bibles
or in pretty prayer books.
I’ve never been into organized religion
and even as a child carry rosary beads
I refused to get on my knees for your so-called god.
I didn’t care how many pinches you gave me,
I still don’t.

But now at 17,
I’ve made a discovery that I want you to know:
I have found "god".
And this might sound like the craziest hippy s*** you’ve heard in a while
But,
he ain't what’s in the bible.
God isn’t a higher being grams.
Its you, it’s me,
animals,
trees.
It’s newborn babies with wrinkly feet and squinty eyes.
Its science and trees and all that go- green s***.
God isn’t complicated, grandma.
"He" doesn’t hate fags,
and I don’t think he approves of wife beating,
and yes if you are truly unhappy with your marriage then you should get a Goodman divorce.
God is just a word, grams,
given power by generations and generations of believers,
started off by a sexist, racist possibly white old man.
So I’m telling you this,
stop praying,
get up,
DO SOMETHING.

Make your prayers mean something!
If you can believe in god, then you can believe in yourself.
Growing up I thought being an adult is when you finally stop needing people,
Now I’m learning that
becoming an adult is finding the people you need and keeping them close,
No matter what it takes.
And maybe I need you
but you’re making it damn hard to keep you close.

Yes, I may not be finding a single sliver of enlightenment
at the bottom of empty bottles of vodka
but I swear
that I have found god in each and every girls lips that I have ever kissed
and if you think I’m going to burn in hell for that
well then
at least, I’ll be dressed in my Sunday-best.

I’m not perfect but prayer won’t fix me grams.
I can’t pray away the gay, nor do I want to.
But I can improve myself
I just....
wish you would realize that being gay isn’t actually
what’s wrong with me.
I can live a happy successful life without your god.

So sing me a prayer, grandma.
I’ve missed your voice,
sugar and honey in my eardrums
as it lulled me to sleep.
I don’t need god grams,
I need you.




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