I love you,
despite that you don’t offer me solace.
I sit in
your pews, participate in your rituals, and pray to your God.
I see
through your achromatic mirage and tolerate your deceitful shine.
I quietly rationalize
that we are all victims of time,
And that
your good intentions can justify your faults.
I forced a
blind eye and turned the other cheek,
Ignoring the
way you treat me,
Waiting for
you to speak to me.
I allowed
you authority in the desert of consensual tyranny,
I was so
thirsty for the oasis you promised me, that I partook.
I drank the
hot, dry sand—
While still yearning
to drink from the waters of truth and equality.
But when I
drank the sand, you praised me.
You loved
me.
So like an
innocent child,
I lapped up the
heat of its emptiness and bathed in your painful praise.
You told me,
Believe.
Serve.
Marry.
Conceive.
So I did.
Just like my
foremothers crossing the plains in His name.
Dead women—with
heirs that bear the names of men.
They are
buried along the dusty trails of your empty promises.
Thatcould have been me.
Yes, motherhood
is my greatest calling.
If I am coerced,
it worked.
I believed
it and I still do.
Yet the God
you tell me to worship is void
of the Mother I hold dear.
To pray to Her
would be my sin.
Is She not
worthy of Her children’s communion or adoration?
What does
that say of motherhood?
What does
this say of me?
You strip my
sisters of their nuance and glorify their obedience.
You use my
daughters to adorn the thrones of men.
You silence the
voices of my foremothers to preserve your version of truth.
Then you ask
me to give you my time? My talents? My life?
All to
uphold your masculine religion and then try to put limits on my abilities?
You don’t
know what I’m capable of.
How dare you
try to limit my service, worship, and compassion.
You can
sharpen your blade and fashion your noose to purge me of my sin,
But let’s be
clear before you do,
My sin was love.
I loved you
and I still do.
For as much
as I want to be free of you, I know I never will.
You are a
part of me—woven into the fibers of my body.
I cannot
deny you have shaped me into the woman I am.
From my great,
great, great, great grandmother, sealed to the Prophet,
I’m from a
long line of women who believed.
You are my heritage,
blood, and home.
So don’t you
think for a moment that I deserve to be here any less than you,
I am not
your enemy.
I’m simply
everything you can’t control,
And it
frightens you.
Have you
forgotten who I am?
I am your
ally—
The legs you
stand upon.
The back that
upholds you.
The voice
that professes your truths.
The body
that bears your posterity.
I am you and
you are me,
And there’s
no escaping each other.
So go ahead.
Burn another
witch at the stake.
Burn as many
witches as it will take,
For you to
understand the problem that’s at hand.
Even when
you cast me in the fires,
I am not
gone.
I have risen
above the ashes.
Your flames
have freed me.
My crude flesh
may bear the scars of obedience,
But I will
no longer be ignored.
I see you
for what you really are—imperfect.
You are a
hypocrite and a sinner,
Yet so am I.
For as flawed
as we are, I still see love.
I see charity,
forgiveness, compassion.
I see
service, selflessness, kindness, inspiration.
I see
family, friendship, hope.
I see us.
I know you.
I cannot
pretend you are evil to simply easy my pain.
My lips must
confess what you are.
You are
childhood memories filled with laughter.
You are the
stories I read as a girl.
You are the songs
of joy that sprang from my heart.
You are the
teachers who showed me kindness,
And the ears
that heard my prayers,
When I
poured out my soul searching for comfort.
You are friendships
beyond the grave.
You taught
me to stand as a fortress of truth despite opposition.
My character
is molded in your halls.
I cherish
the religion of my mothers.
I will tell
my daughter your stories.
I do not
fear our convoluted past.
My daughter
will know her bloodline.
Her heart
once beat within me—
Beating like
all the hearts of your daughters, sisters, and mothers.
Our voices
combined,
Like tears
falling from the sky creating a symphony of persistence.
You will eventually
hear our cries.
Maybe not
today.
Maybe not
tomorrow.
But you will
inevitably hear us,
Because you
need us.
I forgive
you.
I will not
reject you the way you have rejected me.
I simply
reject this ruse of absolutes.
I have left the
innocence of the Garden,
I have tasted
the fruit as did Mother Eve,
And I am
disillusioned.
I acknowledge
both good and evil.
Yes, I value
honesty above positivity, transparency above bliss
Because I
have little use for your illusions.
Can’t you see
there is beauty without perfection?
There is love
in our flawed existence.
I have given
you my mind, body, and soul.
Is my
request for reciprocation so unreasonable?
You cannot
clip my wings,
When your doctrines
command my evolution,
And I am
here—ready to evolve,
To fly
beyond mundane obedience into my promised heavenly inheritance.
I am simply
seeking what you taught me.
Don’t be
afraid.
You don’t
have to clutch to your orthodoxy with raw, bleeding hands—
So fearful
of what will happen if you let go.
Your pride is
paralyzing,
So you
tighten your grip searching for safety.
But you know
as well as I do,
There is no
safety in the unknown.
There is no
safety in the future.
Only trust.
Only faith.
Only us.
And I choose faith.
Where is
your faith?
Let us unify
the masses
Diverse in
gender, race, and classes
Infinite hearts
beating as one—
Achieving
our common goal
To heal,
comfort and console.
We’ll celebrate
our diversity while synchronized in purpose
Creating the
future,
By improving
the world.
As creators
of compassion,
We can
redesign a heaven out of this hell.
There are
foes far worse than I—hate, disease, hunger, war, death.
These are
our enemies, not each other.
We can
defeat them together.
We can defy
our restrictive boundaries—
In an effort
to lift one another.
Have we
forgotten our ancestors?
They
suffered, bled and died.
We let it
continue and I don’t know why.
Imagine
what we could do.
Why wait for
the next generations,
When we are
capable of greatness now?
Let us fill
the future with our love,
And saturate
the unknown with compassion.
Put your
faith in me as I have in you.
I am still here—waiting
to catch you.
Please, let
go and embrace me too.
Yes, you are
the Church,
but so am I.