Palm Sunday

It’s Palm Sunday today. Growing up this was a day that even if we were seriously sick you went to Mass anyway. But I am not going to Mass today. 

I am looking in on myself from the outside in while I sit volunteering at a yoga studio,reflecting on that girl. I know what my mother would say…or rather how she would look-horrified. “My daughter is going to hell.” And dad would say “as long as you do this, the devil is winning.” But I have questions that can’t be answered while my bitterness gets deeper and deeper every Sunday.

For example, why is NFP allowed by the church if marriage is only allowed for baby making? Also why is it allowed and oral sex isn’t because they say it is the same thing as contraception? Let’s clarify something- I enjoy pleasuring my husband in every way possible. Oral sex does nothing to prevent is making babies when we do have sex. Making out doesn’t make babies either but that’s allowed. 

Another thing, Catholics say they can prove they are right because they had lasted for so long, but Buddhism and Judaism are older and they are still going so…….

Why, if Christ showed love to everyone, and only called the Pharisees out on their sin, do Catholics and Christians feel the need to constantly throw sin in each other’s faces and everyone else’s? Even people who haven’t done anything wrong?

Why is everything sinful? Is God really up there creatin a thousand traps for us and if we ever trip up we are going straight to Hell? I refuse to worship a monster god.

Why are we not allowed to explore other religions if we believe we have the truth? If we have the truth wouldn’t we only learn more about our own belief if we explored everything? 

Why is it more important to comfort women who have had abortions than women who have had miscarriages? Women who have had abortions did something wrong, and they have support groups and free counseling, yet women like me followed all your rules, and it’s impossible to even find a catholic counselor for it and all you get in support is glares at every Catholic young adult meeting you go to because you don’t have children to show for your year of marriage. I’m so sorry my 2 babies didn’t survive.

Why is it that my Yoga studio has more  true Christianity in it than any Church I have been to in years? Why do they show more love than Christians who are supposed to have Love at the center of their lives?

When these questions begin to be answered and I stop feeling like the Catholic Church is kicking me out for no good reason, maybe I will go back to Church. Maybe I will find God in the Church that says it’s His. But I can’t spend every Sunday feeling like I’m buried in lies that send me to a new hell every day. 

Collaboration Poems


The yellow golden light
Of the fast and steady whistling night,
Cascading sound bytes
Wispy and translucent,
Mirrors of affection, wolves incantations,
Dirty sinners washing bloody hands,
Washed ashore in sunlight’s sinking bands,
A fading friends loss of cohesion
Glimmers in the twilight’s sinking vision.
Autumn whispers cold and strong,
With winter’s cruel fingers come,
To lay in snow body numb,
He longs for rest, weary, cold.
No three day tomb when Monday comes.


The Seen

Vicious moonlight of the oppresive overarcher,
Overbearing concrete building dealing with unspoken er,
Err of night’s goddess translucent,
Draped in darkness, empty hierophant,
Pillars of salt, marbled in forgiveness,
Bronze statues long for liveliness,
While the azure fairy lazes awhile,
Ancient kings teeth sharp from file,
Violating the heart’s strings open from wear,
Knight’s chest Chretien, young maiden heart open from tear.

Good Morning

Good morning, how are you today?
I was so glad to hear from you.
The phone rang with your things to say,
And wishes I cannot undo.

A heart’s wave rose to hear your call,
Sunk in emotionless despair,
Woke in gratefulness for the all
Tender, care, friend-love in your air.

A meaningless gesture of love
From another to another’s own,
Whispered like sun rays from above,
That I’d not always be alone.

I shook my head and condescend
To believe what another said-
That love for us will never end,
I’ll turn away unless I’m led.

But wouldn’t you once come home,
Come to me like a thief in night,
Meet like lovers in your old tome,
Meet body and soul into light.

The Greats of Imagination

The ages saw one who true-lived his heart,
Unashamed and diligent he was.
He baited from within the deepest part,
And pulled it forth, as the fisherman does.

Another accompanied him sometime,
Seeming to agree with most  of his thought,
But his structure was then revealed in rhyme,
A picket fence around the albatross.

The two souls entertwined within themselves,
Met in the union of conversation.
Their works now reside on dusty shelves,
And divide to bring souls sole elation.

So two bound so true one to other same,
May wander as soon as variance came.

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