if there is a god then she is blind
and i cannot tell you what the weight
of a crown feels like on a furrowed
forehead
but in the quiet corners
of the broken pieces of my mind
i imagine
it isn’t all that different from
the weight of the blueberry bonfire
fueled by crumpled paper
scribbled with questions
if there is a god then she hails from below
the universe is a screened porch in a
wavering house during a wet
coastal summer and
i am a fruit fly stuck
between the glass and the
screen, fighting in perpetuity
against a quasi-invisible
unending opponent
if there is a god then she is afraid too
and i can scream and shout and
stagger to my knees
as the stars watch from a thousand
miles away,
smiling passively, and
kid, have you not been
told a thousand times
not to yell for help when
you need it
because if everybody hears you then
nobody hears you at all
and there is no god
there is no god there is no god there is no god but
if there is a god then she is surely not mine
and i cannot tell you what the weight
of a crown feels like on a furrowed
forehead
but in the quiet corners
of the broken pieces of my mind
i imagine
it isn’t all that different from
the weight of the blueberry bonfire
fueled by crumpled paper
scribbled with questions
if there is a god then she hails from below
the universe is a screened porch in a
wavering house during a wet
coastal summer and
i am a fruit fly stuck
between the glass and the
screen, fighting in perpetuity
against a quasi-invisible
unending opponent
if there is a god then she is afraid too
and i can scream and shout and
stagger to my knees
as the stars watch from a thousand
miles away,
smiling passively, and
kid, have you not been
told a thousand times
not to yell for help when
you need it
because if everybody hears you then
nobody hears you at all
and there is no god
there is no god there is no god there is no god but
if there is a god then she is surely not mine
Artist Statement:
I could take this space here to talk about religion. I could talk about myself, and how I’ve grown and changed, and how the idea of a god has played into that. If I wanted to, I could discuss the agnosticism and atheism around me and how both influenced me. I could talk about how much I want to believe in a god, and how I just can’t bring myself to. I could share my worries about my own beliefs, and how the idea of hell terrifies me, but the idea of oblivion terrifies me even more.
But, to be honest, this piece isn’t about religion at all. It’s about the strange nature of the universe, and the questions of a teenager. It’s about the fickle beast that is anxiety, and how it does everything it can to convince you it’s your friend. It's about the way it whispers poison in your ear, and about how part of you knows that you're being irrational but the rest won't let you stop spiraling. I think one of the more misunderstood things about anxiety is the fact that the disorder doesn't make you worry that you're wrong. Instead, it tells you that you're right. It tells you that nobody cares, and that the world doesn't need you, and that everything you do is pointless, and you can't stop yourself from thinking that I knew that, I told you so, I was right.
When you read ‘if there is a god’, I hope you get the sense of helplessness and uncertainty that comes with an anxiety disorder. When you shout into the void even though every part of you knows it isn’t listening, and the universe snaps at you and the wind looks away and your throat stings from yelling through tears, you experience something that you can’t find any other place. Shouting into the careless sky isn’t fun, and it isn’t helpful.
You should try it sometime.
I could take this space here to talk about religion. I could talk about myself, and how I’ve grown and changed, and how the idea of a god has played into that. If I wanted to, I could discuss the agnosticism and atheism around me and how both influenced me. I could talk about how much I want to believe in a god, and how I just can’t bring myself to. I could share my worries about my own beliefs, and how the idea of hell terrifies me, but the idea of oblivion terrifies me even more.
But, to be honest, this piece isn’t about religion at all. It’s about the strange nature of the universe, and the questions of a teenager. It’s about the fickle beast that is anxiety, and how it does everything it can to convince you it’s your friend. It's about the way it whispers poison in your ear, and about how part of you knows that you're being irrational but the rest won't let you stop spiraling. I think one of the more misunderstood things about anxiety is the fact that the disorder doesn't make you worry that you're wrong. Instead, it tells you that you're right. It tells you that nobody cares, and that the world doesn't need you, and that everything you do is pointless, and you can't stop yourself from thinking that I knew that, I told you so, I was right.
When you read ‘if there is a god’, I hope you get the sense of helplessness and uncertainty that comes with an anxiety disorder. When you shout into the void even though every part of you knows it isn’t listening, and the universe snaps at you and the wind looks away and your throat stings from yelling through tears, you experience something that you can’t find any other place. Shouting into the careless sky isn’t fun, and it isn’t helpful.
You should try it sometime.