what i've really learned from church

she loves a woman but, 

she still closes her eyes and bows her head to pray to 

a god who i always thought 

would never love me. 

love thy neighbor but, 

only if they have the

traditional kind of sex. 

i've learned not to say his name, 

forced blood soaked bread down my throat and, 

don't stop to think twice. 

i don't say HIS name because always 

HIS name is in all caps like 

it's screaming to me. 

and me, not even knowing what i am, 

learning online that i should love myself, and learning 

through a man with nails in his skin to 

hate myself. 

so am i the bad guy? 

i am told that these are the bad people, the ones that 

force us to repent for 


but then what about all the people here? 

all the nice ones who 

ask me about high school, 

and the ones i've laughed with. 

what i've really learned in church doesn't come from the altar or the broken books. 

it doesn't come from sour organ melodies. 

it comes from the notice nailed to my door like nails through the skin of jesus that 

i am both a sinner and 

a saint. 


This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741