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Dear God
Dear God,
 
 I'm sorry I hid you under the floorboards 
 next to the CD's my mom don't 
 approve of, 
 and for painting you red because red
 was in — not because it's 
 the color of the words you spoke. I'm sorry
 for letting your name slip from 
 my tongue
 next to the words "faggot" and "Hell" —
 I'm sorry I used you
 as an excuse for
 hate.
 And most of all, I'm sorry that whenever 
 I pray, 
 it's in the school cafeteria and not 
 by my bedside,
 because I'm not praying for your ears,
 but theirs.

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