Spoken Word #2 - Sheep

Hey there, and welcome back to Spoken Word.

This poem is titled Sheep. I was inspired to write this poem by recent events in my life surrounding my deconstruction from Christianity. Something I was told often by my parents and religious leaders was not to be a “sheep”, not to follow the herd of nonbelievers down the “wide path of destruction”. 

I always found that odd, because I am no stranger to scripture and I know that passages such as Psalm 23 endearingly refer to God as our shepherd, therefore naming us His sheep. 1 Peter 2:25 states, "For you were like sheep going astray, but have now returned to the shepherd and overseer of your souls.” I never understood why one would twist such a loving message into a threat or a warning against losing faith. It was then that I realized that religion is very often molded to suit one’s needs, be it for politics, justification of hatred, or personal gain.

Another passage that I reference within Sheep is Matthew 7:15, which refers to false prophets as ravenous wolves disguised in sheep’s clothing. I find it funny that I got a wolf tattoo upon making the decision to deconstruct from Christianity. I mentioned in a previous post, On Frankie: Why I Chose A Wolf As My First Tattoo, that I got a wolf simply because I thought it was a nice design. The hidden irony behind my spontaneous decision seemingly foreshadowed the future of my faith.

I didn’t write Sheep to convince my readers for or against pursuing religion. I encourage everyone to research and seek out their own beliefs zealously and passionately. I wrote Sheep based on the irony surrounding the reactions I faced upon coming out about my deconstruction. It’s based on events leading up to the moment I stated a different belief — how quickly those holy white sheep coats were ripped away to reveal claws and fangs.

I hope you enjoy my work. Thank you always for reading <3

Much love,

Alexandra

Transcript:

I am nineteen.

Frustrated, stupid, and reckless.

I am everything my parents raised me to be, and I am everything they feared I would become.

They offered me the gift of salvation that delivered them from sin and blindly I followed,

Like the sheep they had always warned me against embracing.

I was ten.

I discovered self-harm the year prior, sneaking away to the bathroom for my daily date with crafting scissors and bandages.

Under bloody gauze and leggings, no one would ever have a clue.

I feared Hell for my sins against this temple God gave me,

But I wondered why He wouldn't just take this pain away.

I was a child.

I was twelve,

In an era where kids still believed the word  ‘gay’ was an insult,

I secretly had a crush on a girlfriend from school,

But the book that raised me told me that I was sinful and filthy.

I would spend my mornings researching the word ‘bisexual’ and I would spend my evenings praying for forgiveness 

For allowing the wolves in sheep's clothing to taint my mind

For being a sheep and veering towards the wide path of corruption that would lead to my demise.

I was fourteen.

My body was dying,

I would lay in bed, sipping diet soda and contemplating death,

My right hip, covered in thick scars, three-hundred and forty-nine of them, I had counted one day to be exact.

I had once carved the word ’help’ into my thigh.

One night, I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor at 2AM with a knife to my wrist and a note strewn across the cool tiles.

I no longer wanted to be alive.

I was sixteen.

I went to bible study every Wednesday,

Begging for prayer, for my almighty god to deliver me from my starving cage.

I swore to do His work, I promised to go to Seminary to share His word with the world,

I prayed that my testimony would have a happy ending,

Studying the red ink day and night, the only comfort that I had was in this man-made book.

And still… silence.

I was eighteen.

I was raped by someone I was meant to trust.

I asked my fellow Christians for prayer and I got rejected by the sheep,

Called a slut,

Attention-seeker

Whore.

I denounced the flock of wolves in sheep’s clothing that was Christianity,

The foundation of my identity being swept right out from under me.

The pure virginity that defined my worth as an unmarried Christian woman was stolen.

What else did I have?

I am nineteen.

I refuse to get baptized, sucked into a faith that twisted my trauma against me.

My godly father tells me that he would never choose me over the Lord.

Yet, he holds my hand in backhanded prayers, claiming he just wants to rid me of the demons I’ve come to carry,

But when I confessed about my dying faith, he said, “You are dead to me.”

My mother waits silently in the living room for the bleats and snarls to cease.