He said he preferred a church
that was bruised, hurting, and dirty.
How did he know he was talking
to me?
Would he still say that knowing
it was me that caused the pollution,
the evolution of the human condition
in the midst of perfect holiness?

What would he say when he saw me,
smudged eyeliner and heart beating
wide open and wonderful
for the devil to tempt and turn and twist
into an instrument of disappointment
and muscle?
Would he recognize me,
the true me from years ago
when the biggest sin was saying
words that I shouldn't have,
and Hail Mary's were definitely said more
shouldn't haves?

I'm sorry, Papa,
that I am the Church that is bruised,
hurting,
dirty.
I'm sorry that is what you have to witness.
I tried to be good
and it didn't work
and now I don't feel less filled with love,
just more filled with guilt.
Do you know when the fat lady is going to sing her song for me?