I am six years old
I am falling asleep in a church pew, and having my mother wake me only to have me listen to what my father was preaching.
I am transfixed by the words that were flowing so effortlessly out of his mouth.
I am the only six year old paying any attention to him, the only one not playing with dolls, or drawing or having fit.

Now I am eight years old
I turn around to hush the child crying behind me so I could hear about God, AKA the reason I am here today.
I kneel down beside my bed and talk to the one who claims to love me most.
I walk down the aisle, tears in my eyes, to receive the blood and body of my savior.

Now I am eleven years old
I learn how to become a servant of the lord.
Holding onto his every word.
I bow my head down, praying for those in need.

Now I am thirteen years old
Writing essays on how much I love Him.
How I would do anything to to become half the man that he was, to wholly understand him;
Confiding in him like he was my best friend

Now I am fourteen years old
Writing a paper on Humanism, the exact opposite of what has been drilled into my head since the day I was born.
My faith starts to quiver, but I try to hold on.
I reach my hand up, and knock on God’s door, hoping for him to help me, to guide me.

But after days, weeks, months of constant knocking, my knuckles are stained with blood from desperately trying to get him to let me in.
But answering machine after answering machine, I began to realize:
I realize that God is the biggest f***ing hypocrite.

“Knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For everyone that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.”

Well I have been knocking for my whole damn life,
But he has yet to open to me.
So I decided to leave this life
This life of lies.
This life of believing in the unknown.
This life of grasping onto hope.
This life of bloody knuckles and answering machines.
I give this up, and live a life of truth.