A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.

Beam Hallelujah

The beams reach high—to you
As if you are not here, in the pew
But you don’t mind it
You come how we’re able

The cross up there reminds me of the ones you put all over
Torture as a decoration, hallelujah
Like the one you pained for me at that pottery shop
When I got myself baptized
And Grandma Betty thought it was a waste

You were my sanctuary—are?
Do I still get to say that?
While I learn to stand on the legs you knit for me in your womb?
Which sort of makes them yours, I guess
And I like that thought, hallelujah
And I hope to make you proud with how I use them

These walls say different things to me than they would to you
—or do? You say “thanks God”
Like the All Powerful Creator has your number memorized
And I—with this brain you stitched—wonder if that makes any sense
I’ll walk into the dark so you don’t have to, hallelujah

And the beams stretch tall like the trees
Who know already that you’re in the roots
And who is God to me anymore without you?

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