poetry — untitled i

hate the sin, not the sinner 

a little girl says, wide eyed and worried

when she says it, when she preaches it,

she doesn’t know what she’s saying, doesn’t know why.


hate the sin, not the sinner

weekends spent wrapped around a girl,

cuddling and kissing and calling it friendship,

sunday morning she leaves, walks home, goes to church.


hate the sin, not the sinner

a little girl grows up, learns about herself,

tries, tries, tries to deny it

she remembers the way her skin buzzed when a girl held her hand.


hate the sin, not the sinner

she leaves behind the prayers and the rituals,

but not before kneeling in that dusty church,

pleads to God, pleads to know why she was made this way.

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