Sunday School


they taught us to be sick and we said

amen;

they told us we would burn for being created

and we cried out

hallelujah;

they sentenced us to shame and suffering,

and we thanked them

when their cold shoulders told us:

“you are dismissed.”

we’re left here with the illusion of sin

clinging to our souls,

our bones so broken that love and grace

feel like caustic burns,

a fiery suture for the wounds

we’ve been left with since our youth.

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About thefreescribbler

My life is one of words. I am a scribbler, whose thoughts are best expressed through adjectives and phrases and punctuation marks. I would not go so far as to call myself a writer, although many would disagree. I’m characterized more by my unfinished works and half-embodied ideas, scraps of stories and parts of poems. Maybe one day I’ll be a writer, but I’m okay with being a scribbler right now. It fits my personality and style, and best expresses my aims. I’m not trying to create some lofty version of literature. I’m just a kid blogging about life. View all posts by thefreescribbler

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