I Can't Believe It

I suppose someday I'll get to say, "I ran out of church on Easter." By then enough time will have passed that it won't matter that the service was technically ended a second before, or that I didn't full-out run until I was down the front steps. Time fuzzes out details, and important things, too. The reason I sat through that service was hope there would be something said I could run out in protest of.

So hey Mom and Dad, let's make a Crusade date for next week. Let's do it all again: carry me out of the house, drag me into the building. What do you mean, they won't think I'm pagan? Unshowered, hair not combed, wearing a seven-year-old boy's striped button-down shirt. A female in pants! To them that's a man who cooks, a Goth, or anybody gay. You can be Dick Cheney and I'll pretend to be a lesbian. How could you overlook that? People show in their details.

You and I, all we share is this house and mistrust. I tell you my dirty lies because I hate you. You tell me your religion because you love me. "Think deeply please" - there's a reason I wrote that on an Easter egg. But there's none for why you hid it in the rain and let God brainwash the sincerest one I made.

'Cause institution's like a big bright lie,
And it blinds you into fear and consuming and fight
And you've been in the desert underneath the charging sky
It's just you and God,
But what if God's not there?
But his name is on your dollar bill,
Which just became cab fare
- Jenny Lewis, "The Charging Sky"