A Letter From Your Retired Servant

(Slam Poem)

Dear god, dear creator,
dear maker of my suffering.
Do you remember me? 
Or is this some chance 
reunion to return my pain? 
I already sent that pain to you 
and now come to send it back? 
As if my love for you wasn’t 
enough, do you think it was 
just another burden to bare? 

Were all these years of pain 
and plastic smiles forced up 
by delicate needles all for not? 
Well, to you this letter, this note 
of burning anger and terrible sadness.
A letter from your retired servant. 

Dear god, I remember the day I 
learned about you, I remember 
the day I cast my glossy eyes 
to the heavens above and tried 
to see if you were looking back. 

I remember that day. It was dark 
from little puffs of smoke emitting 
the air from smelly sticks of 
incense, the floor was hard and 
wooden slithers stuck in my small 
bare feet. The fat screen of the 
computer reflected off my 
grandmother’s eyes as she played 
her game of imitation solitaire. 

My little plastic farm was laid out
for me to play with in the darkness 
of her basement, the only pure 
source of light coming from a small 
window to my right.

There’s a little girl there, a girl who 
played with the little plastic farm 
that’s now covered in dust. She 
plays with those little toys as if 
they were alive and well. The 
cows and sheep had thoughts, 
feelings, tragedies and families.
 
Thinking of them caused her to 
wonder. Wonder where on earth 
all these animals and hopes and 
dreams and feelings came from. 
“Grandme grandme, tell me tell 
me where oh where these 
animals came from”. 

Her gaze was fine a pure as if she 
loved the little girl’s question, in fact 
she loved that little girl’s question. 
It was only after that little girl asked the 
question was her fate, my fate 
permanently sealed. I didn’t know that 
you existed and now I wish that 
memory was locked away deep in the 
eternal depths of my ever growing 
darkness, never to see or think or 
hear or feel ever again. 

Dear god, I don’t even bother capitalizing 
your name when it is written on a thin 
piece of lead stained paper. Your name is 
their strength while it is my weakness, and 
your power is just a shadow that was only 
played in my head. I fought for the right to 
be my own person with me ending up 
under a bathroom sink wondering when 
this time will forever end. 

Dear god, you wonder why I hate you so,
My skin burning every time your name is
Said. My terrible nightmares of your reign 
Encased in my running mind. I don’t 
Remember when we first left but I 
Remember the feeling.
No one knows what it's like
What it's like to feel this feeling that I have
The feeling that only comes when 
people leave, when people suffer, when 
people are left to rot in their skin. I don't like 
this feeling that I have but it's something that 
was carved deep into my flesh with burning 
iron. It hurts, it hurts like hell it hurts like two 
golden hands ripping me in two. l can only 
wish that wasn't the case I can only wish that 
I am the only one I can only wish that other people 
didn't have this feeling too. But a wish is a wish 
and a wish stays untrue. And if only, if only I 
could get this feeling out then everything 
would be fine.

Dear god, I remember the tongues 
that would hiss nasty words into 
my ear that turn my body ice cold. 
I can hear it, I can hear what they say 
and mean and feel and the way their 
eyes follow our slow steps like a disease. 
The lights shine bright up ahead but the 
surrounding area is dark. I see my parents 
with their heads held high but I can tell 
they're scared. I'm scared of what they 
are scared of, it makes my cry it makes 
me sad inside.

Dear god, you are the reason I had 
to grow up from my childhood.
The great departure from my 
Dreams to modern society. 
After we left you say that we
Were the sick ones. We were all
Born sick and worshiping a mythical
Being may spark flares of hope, but
It doesn’t cure us, it doesn’t make us
Any better than what we already are.

Dear god, if you loved me then you 
Would stop those cold hands from 
Reaching forbidden places and 
Making me think that it was okay
For him to do it. You made me forget 
Until it was too late and you let him
Walk out unpunished. 

Dear god, dear maker of my suffering, 
your the reason I fear mankind the most. 
You give the roles or women for giving
Birth and creating life and then punishing 
Her for having too many while you reward
The men who fuck more often then
They eat. I have my role as a woman in
This nasty world but for me to follow is
For me to die and let them do what they
Want without question. But leaving you, 
Dear god, gave me a choice. A choice to
Be who I want to be and do what I see fit.

Dear god, I hope that when you read my
Letter, if ever, that my only punishment 
is for you to rid me of my pain before it 
Swallows me whole. But till then, I'll find
A way to get you first.