8 years of you are scribbles to pocketbooks,
dollar store gel pens,
ragged edged blue lined papers
that are burned to dust;
Tell me please,
no, don't,
I no longer wish to know
why it is that you still come every Sunday
to the 4th pew to my right,
and God!
Sit me down in the church just to see him glance in my direction?!
No-
you are Bibles left unopened
and red covered hymn notes that fail to pass through my lips;
I don't want you,
I don't want Jesus and neither do I want church;
I want your 8 years back,
for you to return the dollar store gel pens you bought me,
for my mother to return the pocketbook that was bought for my world history class;
Take it all away,
take it,
take it,
take me with you.