J.H. Christ and The Peeps

No matter how hard I try, I am just not comfortable with celebrating the return of a guy from the dead...

...mostly, it just seems a bit odd...and always has.

It is made even more peculiar when boiled chicken periods and fluffy bunnies are thrown into the mix.

I'm pretty sure if I returned from the dead, I would be hungry, but not enough to eat chicken periods and Peeps.

I don't want to crack on anyone's beliefs (as I was raised a Christian and shocked my family with being awarded "Religious Honors" upon my graduation from parochial school), but if you are going to cram Easter down everyone's throat all day and we have to deal with that, at least separate the crap from the faith.

J.H. Christ would not approve of the exploitation of bunnies and the slaughter/mistreatment of chickens.

I am pretty certain that He did not die for our sins and then rise from the aforementioned dead so that we could destroy our bodies and dine on the menstrual waste of chickens. Ewwwwww!

Religion should be personal (if you to subscribe to such a thing).

If it's all about the sugar and the wearing of pastels for corporate exploitation, call it that. It is what it is.

OK, I'm off to fill my Easter baskets with chocolate and bribes for my children's affections...

*skips off to publicly held corporate mecca, Walgreens to buy half-priced Easter fare for well informed but materially spoiled angels-from-personal-uterus.*

And Never Was

I am angry with you. I cannot explain it. I have been angry with you for a very long time. You did this. You did this to me. I forgave you though you were not sorry. I did not, however, forget...and it seems as though I will not...no matter how I have tried.

I can laugh. I can sing. I can dance. I can love. With all of that, it still holds true that at the end of the day, when I close my eyes... when I am alone in the comfort of my fear... there you are. Stabbing me with your knowledge. Ripping me to shreds with what you have done. Mocking my scars and making me bleed while you dance your soulless dance of pain and glory.

I do not want you...though that has never made you leave.

I cannot make what you have done go away.

You should have murdered my body. You took my soul. Stole my youth. You torment my eternal present.

You have made me the worst kind of weak...the kind that the naked eye will mistake as strong.

I was just a child...and never was.

Where were you?

Where is your shame?

Has it died with my cries...?

Now it is my fault. My fault for not allowing you to die. I am left fighting the same thing day in and day out and I am tired.

Why did you not teach me to fight it?

Why did you leave me alone?

I was just a child...and never was.

Now I am one with my pain. I hold it close, as it is safe and does not abandon me. Pain kept me safe, while you were busy. When it dies, I will mourn it. Like I have mourned you since the day you looked away. The day you were too busy to love me. The day you forgot.

...happy birthday.

I love you.