We don't believe in God

I have never doubted the ability

of a womans rage, and

the floppy arc of a chosen mans

black leather belt

marring my skin with the days when

I was ​bad, but you were good 

Monday is called opposite day

Church is where we went to pray

So why did i pray

At the foot of your anger

Like you were the God

and the sacrifice made

was my sanity

This poem is about: 
My family


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