deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Podium
Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
Sing to me 'cause I can't hear myself
Through the loudness of my own hurts
Call me selfish when I say this, say this
I'm kinda helpless, and I need you
Sing to me 'cause I'm not doing well
—-Sing to Me, Missio
*ahem*
let’s talk about memories
the podium is wood
~ or at least it was
once upon a time
when it had no idea
what it would become,
the lies it would help sell
we can talk about my dad
but not for long
the great Reverend James,
pastor-at-large
to the 50 or so people
in a city full of heathens
who subscribed to
his convoluted conspiracies
about The God
who created me to be sinful
just so He can hate me when I sin
weekly sermons shouted
across the slick-tacky surface;
love your neighbor
and all that jazz,
at least until
Sister Teresa tries to lay claim
to your favorite spot
among the five plain wooden pews
in this abandoned storefront church
where fairy tales
and deliberate misinterpretations
were sold to the fearful
every Sunday morning
at ten o’clock sharp
not then.
then, you can be a hateful bitch
hallelujah
pride of the trip-and-fall variety
happens when
you shine a thing so often
you lose the feel of its original skin
the scent of waxy, layered
lemon and chemical perfume
covering its cold shoulders
with a hint of mold
assaults every corner
of my greedy inhalation
..I’ve found there’s a lot of room
in my suddenly imploding universe
for both loving and loathing
that which is familiar
and painful
let’s talk about voices
I talk too much.
It’s a fact, and I’ve always
understood it, read it
in every face that went slack,
every pair of glazed-over eyes;
each time I was asked to
cork the noise bursting forth
from my mouth every time
I had an occasion to open it,
I wished that I could tell them
I really wanted to tell them
If I stop these words from flowing
they will play pinball with my brain,
slamming into every other word
panicked and crowding the exit
I have so many questions
like, where was I?
ah yes.
memories;
I step to the microphone,
pressing my face hard
against the cold mesh
just to feel its familiar invasion
into my personal space
one more time;
it leaves a mark
It’s hard to turn God down
when you’re a telethon pet
performing cool tricks
to raise money
for the velvet-lined collection plate
faux-chrome paint
revolted by the holy hands
that have grabbed and
bent its stalk to their will
creaks surprisingly loud
and metallic shards scream
protests into my palm;
I want to sing until my aging alto
echoes against every wall
I’ve ever built because of this
over-polished
piece of my programming
but I will not give my voice
to this memory
ever again
Getting tired of my own words
Sing to me 'cause I can't hear myself
Through the loudness of my own hurts
Call me selfish when I say this, say this
I'm kinda helpless, and I need you
Sing to me 'cause I'm not doing well
—-Sing to Me, Missio
*ahem*
let’s talk about memories
the podium is wood
~ or at least it was
once upon a time
when it had no idea
what it would become,
the lies it would help sell
we can talk about my dad
but not for long
the great Reverend James,
pastor-at-large
to the 50 or so people
in a city full of heathens
who subscribed to
his convoluted conspiracies
about The God
who created me to be sinful
just so He can hate me when I sin
weekly sermons shouted
across the slick-tacky surface;
love your neighbor
and all that jazz,
at least until
Sister Teresa tries to lay claim
to your favorite spot
among the five plain wooden pews
in this abandoned storefront church
where fairy tales
and deliberate misinterpretations
were sold to the fearful
every Sunday morning
at ten o’clock sharp
not then.
then, you can be a hateful bitch
hallelujah
pride of the trip-and-fall variety
happens when
you shine a thing so often
you lose the feel of its original skin
the scent of waxy, layered
lemon and chemical perfume
covering its cold shoulders
with a hint of mold
assaults every corner
of my greedy inhalation
..I’ve found there’s a lot of room
in my suddenly imploding universe
for both loving and loathing
that which is familiar
and painful
let’s talk about voices
I talk too much.
It’s a fact, and I’ve always
understood it, read it
in every face that went slack,
every pair of glazed-over eyes;
each time I was asked to
cork the noise bursting forth
from my mouth every time
I had an occasion to open it,
I wished that I could tell them
I really wanted to tell them
If I stop these words from flowing
they will play pinball with my brain,
slamming into every other word
panicked and crowding the exit
I have so many questions
like, where was I?
ah yes.
memories;
I step to the microphone,
pressing my face hard
against the cold mesh
just to feel its familiar invasion
into my personal space
one more time;
it leaves a mark
It’s hard to turn God down
when you’re a telethon pet
performing cool tricks
to raise money
for the velvet-lined collection plate
faux-chrome paint
revolted by the holy hands
that have grabbed and
bent its stalk to their will
creaks surprisingly loud
and metallic shards scream
protests into my palm;
I want to sing until my aging alto
echoes against every wall
I’ve ever built because of this
over-polished
piece of my programming
but I will not give my voice
to this memory
ever again
Published 7th Apr 2021
Author's Note
NaPo 2021 283 unique words
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 5
reading list entries 4
comments 8
reads 79
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
7th Apr 2021 6:51am
Oh you see. You worry but you're a master of your craft.
It also makes me particularly happy to ever learn of the history. Even if just reiteration.
And maybe because I'm in the same mindset *eh hem... ow* i think this reads beautifully in tempo. At least to my mind at the moment.
It also makes me particularly happy to ever learn of the history. Even if just reiteration.
And maybe because I'm in the same mindset *eh hem... ow* i think this reads beautifully in tempo. At least to my mind at the moment.
7th Apr 2021 7:21am
Thank you so much for stopping by with your lovely words, and for the add ❤️
7th Apr 2021 7:27am
You just get better and better each and every time you pick up a pen I am humbled by your talent Luna, you are stunning and beautiful
It’s hard to turn God down
when you’re a telethon pet
performing cool tricks
to raise money
for the velvet-lined collection plate
faux-chrome paint
revolted by the holy hands
that have grabbed and
bent its stalk to their will
creaks surprisingly loud
and metallic shards scream
protests into my palm;
I want to sing until my aging alto
echoes against every wall
I’ve ever built because of this
over-polished
piece of my programming
but I will not give my voice
to this memory
ever again
keep writing Jenn it’s your calling
Love
Jackie 🌹♥️
It’s hard to turn God down
when you’re a telethon pet
performing cool tricks
to raise money
for the velvet-lined collection plate
faux-chrome paint
revolted by the holy hands
that have grabbed and
bent its stalk to their will
creaks surprisingly loud
and metallic shards scream
protests into my palm;
I want to sing until my aging alto
echoes against every wall
I’ve ever built because of this
over-polished
piece of my programming
but I will not give my voice
to this memory
ever again
keep writing Jenn it’s your calling
Love
Jackie 🌹♥️
11th Apr 2021 4:19am
7th Apr 2021 1:08pm
This is truly a phenomenal piece of writing. This sings a very particular song to every little Baptist girl who never subscribed to the shiny, gold-plated production. I. Am. In. Awe.
The steam of consciousness feels incredibly organic. Thanks for sharing this.
The steam of consciousness feels incredibly organic. Thanks for sharing this.
11th Apr 2021 4:21am
18th May 2021 6:09am
I found this so relatable. Your honesty and reflection makes this piece even more insightful. Maybe it's the lives we've had growing up struggling with beliefs vs our own individual thinking.
It really is a wonderful verse.
It really is a wonderful verse.
18th May 2021 1:24pm
