Spitting the words: “God hates faggots!”
I’ve never seen exactly
Who it is that you paperclip your knees for
To hold your hands together and pray to
But I think I know what he looks like.
I bet your god is about 5’10”
I bet he weighs 185
Probably stands the way a high school diploma does when it’s next to a SSCE certificate
I bet your god wears a dog chain
I bet he wears flannel shirts with no sleeves,
And a fanny pack over his shoulders
And types words like “am” instead of “I am”
I bet your god watches Africa Magic Yoruba
Ed, Edd and Eddy, voted for GEJ, and loves Iya Rainbow
I bet your god lives in Festac.
I bet his high school served low self-esteem in the cafeteria
And offered “Fag speech” as a second language
I bet he has a swastika inside of his throat
And hate slurs tattooed on his tongue
Just to make intolerance more comfortable in his mouth.
I bet he has a burning cross as a middle finger.
Your god is a confederate flag’s wet dream
Conceived on a day when the sky decided to slice her own wrists
I bet your god has a drinking problem
I bet he sees the bottom of the shot glass more often than his own children.
I bet he pours Grey Goose Vodka on his dreams until they taste like good ideas.
Probably cusses like an electric guitar with Tourette’s plugged into an ocean.
I bet he yells like a schizophrenic nail gun
Damaging all things that care about him enough to get close.
I bet there are angels in Heaven with black eyes and broken halos
Who claimed they fell down the stairs.
I bet your god would’ve made Eve without a mouth
And taught her how to spread her legs like a magazine
That she will never ever be pretty enough to be in.
Sooner or later you will realize that you are praying to your own shadow,
That you are standing in front of mirrors and are worshipping your own reflection.
Your god stole my God’s identity and I bet he’s buying pieces of heaven on eBay.
So the next time you bend your knees,
The next time you bow your head
I want you to
Tell your god—
That my God
Is looking for him.
Written by Vhar