Some days I don’t want my friends or these ligaments that bind me
Religion finds me under the pew by the worn shoes of parishioners.
Smelling of fish and stained with blood
Wishing Jesus saved the good chewing gum and crumbs
Crushed by the shuffle of soles
Wet with drips holy water
Pressed through the holes ripped in pant knees
Stone on thin skin under bone
By the shiny feet of daughters and sons
Who get dragged to the dogma house and can't leave.
I grieve for the lost days spent confined in the confessional
Heavy hands on my shoulders
Waiting for the guilt to disrobe me.