This Is Not a Prayer

This is not a prayer,

since prayers are what you listen to

when you need a good laugh.

Spoiled little boy in the sky,

playing the earth like a video game –

the crimson of our blood

is just a pretty color

that you like to see,

and our tears are merely what happens

when you have pissing contests

with the neighbor downstairs.

The only thing I really know

is the nameless pain of the wife

who hasn’t found a husband

and of the mother

who’s never borne a child.

And I guess I also know

that you cannot hurt me

if I choose

to call everything you send my way

a gift.

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