The Guilt Of Not Having Catholic Guilt
I apply to work at the Catholic school of my abuser
so I can take care of little boys like him, make sure they’re destroyed
through secular means
When my step father found out about my relationship,
he asked what kind of drugs we took together
“I don’t do drugs, I wasn’t raised Catholic.”
It’s true, I didn’t smoke until that boy had looked inside me
And I needed something to flush him and all that god worship out
to think of all the places I put my lips; on joints, plastic straws
and my very own curses.
To think of all what he wanted from me; what could he have possibly
wanted from God?
Jesus was a man once too, well, as much of a man as I am. Skin picked
elbows and pillow-soft cheeks. Tempted and tarnished.
When I didn’t get baptized, I started to float. Every chance I get
salvation, I end by drowning. Is that the point?
I might believe in Jesus if he had a shitty ex boyfriend. If he was alive,
I bet he would get cancelled on Twitter.
It would be for the better. We need less
Ex-Catholics and the colonizers we share in our Jesus-colored complexion.
I might believe in God if Saints were still criminals.
Even then, I’d still sell out to debauchery. Boys like me better when there’s something
new they can put into me. I did praise before I did prayer, and I’d
Do it all over again.
I apply to work at the Catholic school of my abuser,
so I can become the world he rejected. I want to be in a church
like a block party and surround myself
with people who will never find me.
I don’t believe in any man.
I might believe in Jesus.
If only because I understand
what it means to be worshipped
when all you want is to be trusted.
Sebastian Nguyet Snow is a sophomore creative writing major. They were born and raised in Berkeley, California until they woke up at SUNY Purchase. When they’re not writing, they’re reading the same page of a book three times and drinking chai lattes.