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Narrative poem originally written for my college English class. The subject matter is of childhood and religion.

When I was young I wondered why

Dad prayed even though he said he didn’t believe in God.

He said, I don’t believe in God but I fear Him.

I said okay then he told me to pray so

everything will be better and so I can go

to Heaven.

So I did and made little Becca do so too so everything will definitely be better.

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At nights I whipped my rosary

in big circles above my head like a fiery lasso

because I believed it worked best that way.

Some night my hand slipped

and sent fifty-nine raging beads into the air crashing and

igniting and cremating my White Jesus picture stuck to the wall with cheap tape.

Dad threw the door open and looked at me and looked at White Jesus and said Good,

he can go to hell.

Author's Note

Comments, advice, and constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged!

Reviews

[Autonomous]

I don't get what you are trying to convey with this poem and it reads more like a story to me. Still your work is still valid.