growing up an atheist

religious persecution allowed me
the option to feel sorry for myself and my surroundings.
what role I played in the community
became shaped by my desire to fit in
and my lack of ability to do so.

political instability ensued.
whereas before, I had the freedom to be in that vaccuum
post-realization
I feared the existence it entailed.

no more threads weaving thick blankets to cushion my fall.
no more mass forgiving of my trailing virtues.
no more melodic prayers for the savior’s choice of this soul.
no more rescue line from this isolationary world.

yes, I shared the sympathy for the downtrodden
and yes, I wanted to be saved from evil.
and yes, I thought the world would be better without sinners.
and yes, I probably thought once or twice about giving it all away in exchange for material gain.

but did I know, truly, what I was doing
when I sat down and thought, I am above all these other
ten year olds?
did I know, truly, what I was doing
when I condemend a public school’s cirriculum?
and did I know, truly, what I was doing
when the icon of hope for so many
became warped in my mind as the pinnacle of evil?

whether humanity truly grants the freedom to be
is debatable.
whether our animal instinct, thousands of years of
indoctrination
and strife
has led to a certain level of religiosity
is not.

whether I can be a better person
being aware of all of these shortcomings
is obvious.