promise

promise

I stopped believing in the man in the sky.I don’t know where we all go when we die—maybe a place beyond the tide,somewhere better for you and I,where our tears aren’t wasted when we cry.

I quit believing,but sometimes I still prayjust to end my grieving,to keep my mind at bay.

Sometimes I sit and stareat the fabric that loops and creates a shirt.Sometimes I wonder what createdthe things and places on this earth.

But I also question—how could such a man existin all this hurt?Why not stop the evilthat spreads through us like running water,a continuing shadowdraped over pointless slaughter?

I know I’ve quit believing in such a fantasy,but I kept all the promises I madewhen I could still feel him in me.

When I sliced my delicate skinand the blood continued to pour,I promised I’d never touch a bladeif he stopped the leaking on the floor.

I kept that promiseeven if I don’t believe,because when I wanted someone to notice,I hopedthat he would notice me.