Your Religion Ain't My Disease
poem/song about deconstruction from religion
you ever felt so low,
your very thoughts moved like molasses?
feels like an undertow,
of an ocean current pulling you backwards.
obey the Lord,
get the reward,
didn't even feel worth it.
why do i have to live
this miserable life,
just let me in heaven.
/
i wanted to die at 14,
but that's disobeying authority.
trust in the Lord,
with all of your heart,
if you don't,
you deserve to burn for eternity.
/
wow, what a fucked up thing to say...
I was a child and you taught me to hate (myself).
take up your cross far away from me...
your religion ain't my disease.
/
you ever felt so goddamn depressed,
you wanted to slice your own wrists?
the only control i had in this body,
was my ability to ruin it.
fill it with carbs, fill it with sugar,
bleed out the rage, bleed out the anger,
my scars today still haven't faded.
/
I wanted to die at 17,
I had to be put in a mental wing.
such a disgraceful child
running so wild,
she's thinking her thoughts,
someone stop this insanity.
/
wow, what a fucked up thing to say...
I was a child and you taught me to hate (myself).
take up your cross far away from me...
your religion ain't my disease.
/
depression ain't a choice,
but being a dick certainly is.
you could have dealt another way,
but you chose to be a prick.
you keep asking for forgiveness,
bitch, don't fucking hold your breath.
I don't owe you a goddamn thing,
kick rocks and kiss my fat ass.
/
wow, what a fucked up thing to say...
I'm an adult and I don't care what you think. .
take up your cross far away from me...
your religion ain't my disease.
About the Creator
CT Idlehouse
I write stories and articles. Sometimes they're good.
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By Susan Payton5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
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The line “I was a child and you taught me to hate (myself)” stopped me cold — it felt less like a lyric and more like something ripped straight out of memory. The way the poem moves from being told what to believe, to what to feel, to what to do with your own body really hit that sense of having control taken away piece by piece. By the time it reaches “I’m an adult and I don’t care what you think,” it felt earned, not defiant for show, but exhausted and done. Writing something this raw can’t be easy — did putting it into words feel like releasing some of that weight, or did it stir it back up again?
WOW, you really live life of no pretend, no bullshit here, ma'am