church vs rehab

I want to go to church, and not in some summer fulfill my fleabag desires.

redhibition always knew how to shapeshift itself into the family. I always knew I wasn’t bad enough to stay but not stubborn enough to believe in something bigger than myself. and so the punch line remains in unholy tap-water I gulped at the rounds ups. filled with Wolfpack-driven parents and the idea that there is loneliness in communion.

I long to hear the metaphoric roars of the wolf pack as their mouth waters over the survival to the next moon. 

to be part of a community that thrives off the idea of existing and living and doesn’t ask me to empty more parts of this decaying body. because there is no metaphoric phrase that sums up the fact that life can be complete shit.

to be a part of the religion of oneself, to be able to create something with all the bad that looks conventionally good in your resume. to be more than just a girl with a mouth wide open begging for the world to fuck me over once again. 

I don’t go to church the same way I don’t go to therapy. there is nothing more theatrical than standing in front of a series of people and begging them to grant you worthy enough. so I began the session with my legs crossed over and my hair brushed behind my ear. and gloss over the idea that all of this made me stronger. and I know what shell says before I speak these words into existence. the same way the priest had told me.

they pick n choice whether I'm crippled with addition to limerence desires the same way I'm crippled with religious beliefs. as if me asking the world to grant me some sort of affection dealt with sex along. as if I got off to religious neglect and relationships altogether.

I sweat orange juice. my father's drug addiction and my mother's need to be smaller each time I enter her house.

each time I think of it, I am only a stranger biting the inside of my cheek. this is no GOD. this is only upbringing, this is only forgetting, this is creating a need for religion to excuse my need to keep running. God is not therapy and therapy is not god. I am only a serious of memories begging to last long enough for u to click. 

I want to go to church. I want to go to rehab. I want to go somewhere where people can dress up as a family and I can finally stop asking strangers for an extra seat at their holiday dinner. Unless I am all wrong. Unless I am the last of my kind, an orphan, an empty soul. 

Song- Every time the sun comes up

church, therapy, family, and conversation are the times I play dress-up and pretend to be a more put-together person than I really am,