Heretic

I wanted to be a nun who believed
women should have control
over their own bodies.

For this offense, I’m going to hell.

I’m going to hell because I believe
all people who love each other
should be allowed to make
the commitment of marriage.

I’m going to hell
because I question the accuracy
of a tome written
400 years after the fact.

And I envision
God despairing
over a 2000-year-old game
of telephone.

I’m going to hell because I believe
religion
gets in the way
of spirituality.

I’m going to hell because I asked the nuns
intolerable questions:

Why do we condemn those who are different? Didn’t Jesus admonish not to judge?

Why is it moral to sin and then repent and sin again and then repent again? Those people are going to heaven and I’m not?

Why?

The forced solitude --
to reflect upon the error of my ways --
yielded more questions,
not penitence.

For that I’m going to hell, too.

I believe children should be raised
by people who love them;
not brought into this world
to be raised by an institution.

Yet, the conscientious blue pill
is far more wicked
than the licentious
blue pill.

I treat people as I
wish to be treated.
I pay forward
all I have been given.

Still, my lack of remorse
over my mortal sins
ensures me a place
next to Pontius Pilate.

If not for that,
I’m sure I’m going to hell
for the sacrilege
of this poem.

People laugh, are shocked
When I tell them
I wanted to be a nun.
How could I,
an unrepentant sinner,
love God
with all of my heart?

Imagine how the nuns felt
when informed
of my heresy.