Thursday, October 10, 2013

Hermeneutics and Heresy

I'm grinding turtle meat today with my mother's mixer
That i salvaged from the things my sisters scorned.
From the day she decided to embrace the sister
Of the dark side of religion, I've felt completely forlorn.

It really never mattered to me that i was an embarrassment,
As long as i could see her living by her stated beliefs.
I thought that shaming children was why parents are sent;
But religious rules were human relationships' thieves.

My mother was neglectful and an abusive parent,
She sacrificed her husband and children to a jealous God.
But she was told that purification was why she was sent,
And why, toward human perfection, she continued to prod.

She demanded that I and my sister take her homemaker place,
No matter that neither of us had been trained for the role.
Oldest sister was considered a victim and I was considered a disgrace;
Our older siblings were the only two our parents considered whole.

One was a oldest boy sibling, being bred to be a bullying patriarch;
We were punished for defying them and for following his example.
The other was a saintly parrot; we were to worship her every remark.
They denied that her defiance of the rules was more than ample.

There was no parenting energy left after the two heirs apparent;
At the age of four, I was thrown into my mother's parenthood role.
We children were left to find adults who weren't always absent.
A four-year-old could not reasonably guide their bodies or souls.

This inability didn't absolve me from the sin of corrupting them
My mother's spirit was broken and mine, apparently, was not.
I was the one my siblings thought to be their powerful friend;
My needs, as a vulnerable child, were by  all others, forgot.

For how many years I've felt the shame of not living up;
I was called stupid and sinful for my every childish mistake.
As my preparation for holy communion overflowed my cup,
This is when my heart and soul did completely break.

There was no hope left for me if my sins had killed baby Jesus.
My mothers had already rejected me as, on earth, hopeless.
Nobody would tell me how to turn back the killing apparatus;
There was apparently no path to my salvation we could discuss.

How cruel it is to put the death of Jesus on a naive child;
They believe, without question, what their parents tell them.
I have forever kept myself apart from trusting the religious mild,
To protect the vulnerable from those who say they are friends.

A friend doesn't scare you and tell you, you will suffer in eternity
Because you broke a few of the tribal relationships rules.
A friend will take you aside and explain all the club's idiosyncrasies
And hand you, with no obligation, all the relationship's necessary tools.

But what of those who have been tortured and killed for hypocrisy,
The ones who believed that universal truth is her own reward?
Am I expected to live by what i think is Jesus-follower heresy?
My choices are isolation or falling on my own heretical sword?

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