Stick Figure Savior.

This is me.

stick-figure1

This is my god.

stick-figure1

My god is good. My god is holy. Praise be to my god.

 

I go to church every Sunday. Every Sunday that I am not hungover, sleeping in, or tired, I go to church. Worshipping this lord of mine. My god lets me miss church sometimes because my god understands that it is hard to focus when a hangover is stomping around in my head. My god gets me that way.

 

I pray to my god every day. Every day that I remember, I pray to my god. I remind my god what I need, and I ask my god to satisfy those needs. Sometimes, I ask my god for peace on my way to work. When traffic is heavy, I ask my god to get me to work safely and on time. My god understands if I have to speed and honk my horn when a guy is driving too slow in the fast lane. It feels good when I remember to start my day with my god.

 

I have a book that I like to read when I am not too busy. It is sometimes called “the good book.” It is about my god. I like to read certain parts of my good book because those are the parts that give the clearest depiction of who my god is. It helps me get to know my god. It helps me understand that my god loves me. My god loves me so much that I am allowed to be me. My god doesn’t want to change me because my god would never give me more than I can handle. I think I read that in my good book once. I love my good book.

 

My god lets me love whatever I want to love. My god helps me love myself even when I think I can’t. My god reminds me that I am lovable. My god reminds me that my god has plans for me. My god always makes sure that my god’s plans line up with my plans too. My god and I are good planners.

 

Sometimes, my god helps me love other people. Other times, I don’t want to love other people because they don’t deserve my love. My god is understanding of those times.

 

My god knows that some people might mistreat me, but my god would never let them mistreat me too much. My god takes care of those people that mistreat me too much. My god lets me mistreat them back when they really deserve it- but only if they deserve it. My god calls it justice. I agree with my god.

 

My god is aware of my predisposition toward disliking others that are not like me or my god. My god thinks it is a perfectly logical sentiment. Before I discovered my god, I tried to understand the people that are different than me, but then my god told me that they were different because they didn’t have a god like mine. They were evil. Some of them. Others were blind. My god thinks I don’t need to waste my time with others that are blind and evil and different. It is best that I stay away from the blind and the evil and the different. At least, that is what my god tells me.

 

My good book has lots of stories about my god. There is one story about when my god changed water to wine. My god says I can fill my cup with water or wine because my god likes both. I don’t have to feel bad about drinking wine or liquor or beer. In fact, I don’t have to feel bad about anything at all. My god never wants me to feel bad because bad is the opposite of good, and my god is good.

 

Another time, my god flipped over a bunch of tables in an angry fit, so my god understands that sometimes I have to punch a wall and yell when I am upset. My god says punching walls is fine. Punching people is usually wrong. So is name calling and bullying. That is what my god tells me. Unless of course the other person deserves it. That’s what my god says, and I agree.

 

My good book has this other story about sex. In fact, there are lots of stories about sex in my good book. After all, my god spent a lot of time with prostitutes. That is why my god lets me go to strip clubs when I feel like it. My god and I believe that strip clubs are not bad. My god and I also believe in sex. Sex is a good thing. My god is cool with sex because sex feels good, and my god wants me to feel good. The truth is, that my god is unlike any other god.

 

My god wants me to tell the truth because my god is a truth-teller. My god tells the truth- especially when it is hard to hear. That is why I am not afraid to tell people things that might seem rude or mean. I am not afraid to tell the truth because if it is the truth, then I shouldn’t be afraid to say it. Sometimes, when I see tears welling up and fists clenching immediately following a hearty dose of my truth telling, I almost feel bad. But then, I remember that my god agrees with truth telling. Justice. That is what my god and I like to call it. It helps me, and I don’t feel bad anymore. My god helps me like that a lot. That is why I love my god.

 

I wonder if my god would ever smoke with me. My good book doesn’t talk about smoking. Smoking relaxes me. My good book does say that I shouldn’t be anxious. Relaxed is the opposite of anxious. Yes, my god would definitely smoke with me. That makes me happy.

 

 

My god is happy when I am happy. That’s what it so great about my god. Even when I am not happy and my world is falling apart, my god takes all the blame. Nothing is my fault. My god is so nice to me.

 

I want to tell everyone about my god, but some people don’t enjoy talking about anyone’s god. It is kind of an uncomfortable conversation, but I try to explain that my god is cool. I try to explain that my god isn’t like other gods. Sometimes that helps my friends warm up to the idea of believing in my god. Sometimes not so much. But that is ok if they don’t understand my god. I don’t want to make anyone think I am pushing them into believing in my god because my god isn’t pushy.

 

Some of my friends don’t mind talking about my god. They don’t think I am being pushy. One night, my friends and I talked about my god for hours. I wanted to invite them to my church to help them learn more about my god, but I think we ran out of beer before I was able to invite them. I guess I don’t really remember much of the details. My god wants me to tell others about my god and my good book, so when the time is right, I might tell everyone about my god.

 

It would be rather difficult to tell everyone about my god. Everyone is a lot of people. Luckily, my god never makes me do anything too difficult. Change is difficult too. I am glad my god does not expect me to change overnight. My god knows that I’ll change someday. It just takes time. My god is patient with me.

 

My god knows that I need time. Even if I may not deserve it, my god will give me more time if I need it. My god is merciful like that. I am grateful that I have a merciful god. My god would never make me do anything I do not want to do. My god wants me to feel good about myself and my beliefs.

 

I learn more about my god and my beliefs every time I remember to go to church, but sometimes, my church makes me feel bad about myself. I think it is because my church doesn’t realize how forgiving my god really is. Other times I think my church is wrong about my god, so I find a new church that understands my god a little better. My new church understands me a little better too. That makes me smile.

 

I smile knowing that my god would never make it too difficult for me to be good to my god. My god is good to me because I am good to my god.

Advertisements

Tainted.

Psalm 23, A Psalm of David: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
3 He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.

Tainted.

I am tainted:
Used over and over again,
to the point that I am utterly useless.

I am contaminated:
Tarnished.
Blemished.

My heart has been misused.
I am not just blemished.
I am stained.
Stained with heartbreak.

Every day this stain sets in, wounding me.
It has now become a scar.

This makes no sense.
The only sensible statement
that I can stutter is that

I am slowly s-s-slipping.
Slipping into nothingness,
no one around me except
the nonsense in my head.

Anyone with
the audacity,
the nerve, or
the sheer courage

to tiptoe toward me is
one step away from a
slap in the face.

I didn’t intend to hurt you too.
So for now, I will simply
step on your toes as you
teeter toward the edge.

You don’t want to come into
this valley that has enveloped me.

This is
the valley
of the shadow
of death.

Death is lurking around

every corner

with every

step forward.

Sometimes I start walking,
hiking up this undefeatable mountain,
but every time,

EVERY.
DAMN.
TIME.

I slip.

When I slip,
I not only fall,
I roll over myself
until I am stopped.

Again.

Suicide is so tempting.
There is no one here.

I am a wounded animal,
lost in the wild.
Everyone is the enemy.

Yet slowly,
in my loneliness,
with my crippled soul,

I become my worst enemy.

Instead of attempting to
creep further from Death,
I turn toward her.

Once, I saw her face and
looked into her eyes, and
I managed to get out alive.

I was not as ready as I thought,
but I am afraid that someday,
I will not be so cautious when
Death creeps closer.

I am afraid
that someday
I will fall into
her embrace
and be trapped.
No turning back.

Her arms will engulf me.
I will ask for more time,
but she will not hear as
my muffled cries get lost
in the fabric of her gown.

“I have been waiting, my love,”
she will whisper to me softly
as I shudder in silence.

She will slowly take in my soul.

I will scream.

In my mind,
that is,
as I forget
the common
truth that…

…Death feeds off fear.

The only thing scarier than Death
is the thought of

continuing life

the way it is.

Why, then, am I scared?
Everyone is the enemy to me.

I survive by surrounding myself with silence.
To allow someone else into my solitude
means to release the key to my demise.

Another imperfect being will use it and
discover my deepest fear
with the click of a figurative lock
and the turn of a metaphorical doorknob
“Never again will I let another in,”
I promised myself.
Yet here I am.

Alone. I am alone,
yet the feeling of
loneliness evades me.

There is someone
approaching slowly.

“Evil is near.”
He whispers,
taking my hand.

My fickle, sorry self
cannot understand this
restoration of the soul
that begins to unfold.

I stop to ponder the mystery
of where I was and where I am.

Where is he taking me?

Despite the depths of sorrow
contained in this valley’s deep,
I cannot help but overflow
as heaps of fear fall at my feet.

Where has he taken me?

Suddenly the path is not so steep.
We stop. I have been here before.

He takes my hand again,
kissing my tainted skin.
“Rest near the water, love, in peace.”
Recognizing this river, I fall to my knees.

I see myself in the water,
not as I am, but as I was.

The reflection reveals
the darkest of nights.
Nights spent releasing
streams of sadness
from my eyes.

He wipes the latest tear away.
Trickling into this lake of sorrows
the smallest drop finds her place.

My skin softens under his caress.
“I have been waiting, my love.”
He whispers as I whimper,
cherishing every breath.