Faking My Religion

First Piece On Here

My hometown lays under a fog of Christianity.

People don’t ask if you’re religious.

They ask what church you go to.

I’ve been in between churches long as I can remember.

                                                                                                                                  

My mother believes, my brother and I do not.

She says we’ll go to a hell we don’t believe in,

As if that’s a reason to have faith.

As if we can trust what life has told us isn’t true

                                                                                                                                     

We grew up in the Southern Baptist way.

Vacation bible schools, church on Sunday,

 and My Little Bibles.

The pink book with rhymes and pictures gathers dust on a shelf.

                                                                                                                                 

I believed for years out of fear.

Hearing the preacher’s voice like thunder,

Saying I would live in sin and die in hell.

My only protection that all children go to heaven.

                                                                                                                                         

Then I grew up.

I asked a Sunday school teacher where this all happened.

She couldn’t point it out on a map, couldn’t make it real for me.

I thought of it like a fairy tale, made up places and all.

                                                                                                                                 

I still play the fool for some family members.

When their homeschooled children know every hymn

but can’t read worth a damn,

I keep my lips glued together in a smile.

                                                                                                                                   

When they say, “God is leading us to …”,

I scream inside my head and nod.

When they cut out family for marrying a non-Christian,

I draw the fog around me like a protective cloak so they won’t guess at the truth. 

                                                                                                                                     

My brother’s eyes find mine for a silent conversation.

How much longer can we hide under the fog?

Under the vague brush-offs?

How long until they cut us out and blame the devil for corrupting us?

Reviews

[Jasnil Chand]

Wow Friend

This is a very meaningful piece of writing
Believing and portraying something are two very different sides of a coin
The pressure from all directions into believing and adopting something has to be one of the cruelest things out there

I really enjoyed reading this as every word in your writing captured my attention

Good Work

[Alison Barker]

Hi fellow poet,
Ireally enjoyed this poem for it's heart and honesty.
My only negative comment is about the following sentences:
1] The pink book... This sentence seems too long and out of place compared to the rest of the stanza.
2[How long..the same. [DELIBERATE, perhaps]?
Also, the rythmn constantly changes, Again, this might have been foreffect or rythmn wasn't a part of this poem? Please take what I say with a grain of salt. I am no expert! Trust it helped, anyway. Cheers, Alison.