Love Me

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“My dear, do you have a faith?”  
 
God doesn’t care for sinners and whores  
and I am blessed with the curse of being both.  
Though what kind of God would make whores of the innocent?  
Forced to their knees for the pleasure of men?  
They say God is mighty, and that he is merciful  
I have felt the might of man, though I have never tasted his mercy.  
If God were a man, he’d be an evil misogynistic clown  
laughing at the pain of others, hidden by chemical make up  
women use to make themselves beautiful  
because God didn’t do a good enough job  
of making them in his flawless image.    
 
I am here to mock, so mock me  
while I stumble around in a glorious purple haze  
high and inebriated on whatever cheap liquor I can pour down my throat  
fucking God in the lips of every woman I bed  
their glorious scent lingering on my skin, coating my tongue  
treasured memories to lock away when I need a quick fix on my own.  
While I simultaneously fuck myself up on every cock  
that never leads to love or some kind of pleasurable release.  
I learnt to hate whilst down on my knees praying  
to probing, insistent manhood, demanding attention    
though there is nothing Godly about cocks.  
 
Hold me down and fuck me senseless    
I’m too fucked up to fight, and well, screaming never made a difference  
as God stood in the corner and watched with a smirk on his face  
the loss of innocence and the birth of sinner that would bend over  
for any pretty boy nice enough to call her beautiful.  
And I thought I could find some love there, in masculine arms  
that could choke the life from me, just because.    
While lust masqueraded as something meaningful  
a stage for an accidental attention whore trying to find peace  
in self-destruction and the beds of men that didn’t care if I was 15 or 20-something  
when my legs were an open door with an unhinged sign saying "love me".    
 
So ask me again, if I have a faith, and I’ll tell how God loved me into the arms of merciless men.  
 
© Indie Adams 2012