How Many Metaphors About God Can I Fit in Just One Poem
god gone fishing
god gone mad
god gone shopping
or something, he is gone somewhere and left a sign on his door that says:
BE BACK SOON, MAYBE IN THE NEXT TIMELINE
OR MAYBE IN THE PRIOR ONE. WHAT I MEAN IS, DON’T LOOK FOR ME
WHAT I MEAN IS
LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, WHAT I MEAN IS,
I AM TIRED OF HEARING YOUR PRAYERS EVERY DAY, EACH DAY, LIKE I HAVE
ALL THE ANSWERS, LIKE I DON’T HAVE A BASEMENT FULL OF WATER
LIKE MY FURNITURE ISN’T FLOATING LIKE
THERE’S SO MUCH EVIL IN THE WORLD LIKE
THE RENT IS WAY TOO HIGH IN THE CITY YOU WANT TO GO TO UNIVERSITY TO
LIKE SADNESS EVERYWHERE LIKE THE PAYCHECK ISN’T ENOUGH, LIKE
NOT DISAPPOINTING YOUR PARENTS LIKE
NOT FEELING GREAT IN YOUR OWN SKIN AS IF IT’S LEATHER, LIKE
THE DESIRE TO THROW ALL OF YOUR CLOTHES AWAY
AND THEN YOURSELF
AND THEN YOURSELF
LIKE
STOP PRAYING SO MUCH AND STOP THINKING ONLY ABOUT YOURSELF
SELFISH PRICKS.
and you can hear laughter down the hallway, maybe someone passed this sign and
read it out loud and they figured it must be some sort of slam poetry, something
someone glued to god’s door because he’d never
ever
say such a thing, god loves us more than he loves his own son, god
sacrificed his own son for us but wait, aren’t we all his children?
or, are we all just him, entirely, and not an extension of him, i wonder
what i am, actually.
am i god
part god
or an extension of god,
or am i one of the fish that god catches,
or am i one of the dresses that he throws away, out of his closet,
or am i one of the figures standing still, standing down, thinking
a statue
like a chess piece on god’s chess set like
the one he wins a championship with, like
winning 100 dollars like, am i the dollars in god’s pocket, am i the pocket,
or am i the rock he trips on,
am i the cut on his cheek, or the scars on his abdomen,
or am i the void left by those scars like, the emptiness after those scars like
am i a consequence of god?
am i a metaphor?
or am i trying too hard?
or is god really not a fan of fishing at all but he is trying out new things like,
how his friends always say: YOU NEED TO GET OUT MORE, THAT’S WHY YOU’RE DEPRESSED.
YES, THAT’S WHY YOU’RE SO MISERABLE, BECAUSE YOU NEVER
EVER
LEAVE YOUR PLACE.
so he tries fishing for the first time but the same emptiness remains in his throat and it feels like
he might throw up soon like
being sick after a surgery like
regretting it when you look in the mirror like
loving yourself the next day, hugging your body like
not being able to do any of these and just fantasizing.
locked in your house,
locked in your room,
that’s why you’re so miserable and sad and you won’t ever be successful and no one has your back and
open this door or i am about to kick it down.
god tries fishing, after following the advice of his friends or rather
the aggressive, subtle attack from them but, it doesn’t matter,
because all of the fishes he catches, he throws them back into the river
and he watches them dance with each other.
a tango
or
a devil’s tango
maybe
or the devil looking back up at him from the water maybe
they are both smiling at each other,
and someone throws a rock in the river and the image gets disturbed.
god doesn’t need a therapist,
god doesn’t need to eat fish, he is perfect, he doesn’t need to pay rent, he somehow
bought a house, somehow,
and he sulks in it all day.
and there is mold growing on the walls and he
places his forehead against them, and he stays quiet.
and he stays quiet.
and god talks to the mold and to the wall and to the whole house and they share secrets and
cooking tips like, hey, stop splashing my walls with fried oil, that shit doesn’t get out
ever.
like how god’s hands are burnt after he put them in frying oil, and his shirt is stained
and it was his favorite one too, his favorite Hawaiian t-shirt that he bought online
at some point.
the main advantage of having a house is that you can starve in silence.
you can lock your doors, you can pretend there’s no one home and you can die slowly,
on your own terms.
sure you have to pay taxes each year, but it’s only one day and
somehow you always have the money somehow
because you never eat anyway.
god stays in front of the mirror and he ponders on his relationship with food.
and is it related to his body?
should he fry it more?
or is this good enough, tasty enough,
or is he allowed to eat more than one meal a day,
is he not hungry or is he ignoring his hunger
or is he too lazy to care?
god ponders on his relationship with his voice, and how it always trembles
whenever he speaks to someone other than his mother and father.
he wonders why he cannot keep a straight tone of voice he wonders
why he cannot raise his voice he wonder why
he cannot scream without sounding like a loser, like a dying cat,
hissing, threatening someone in the most harmless way possible.
god ponders on his relationship with speaking and words, and he wonders why
he can find the right ones only when writing poetry and never when
speaking to someone he loves.
god wonders and ponders and god loves
he loves everyone around him he loves
he loves
he pets all the stray cats that walk by his house,
he pets all the stray dogs even though some of them bite him, to the bone, bleeding,
god doesn’t mind.
because god has a very special relationship with bleeding;
he bled a lot.
and he continues bleeding.
and there’s blood all over the kitchen tiles,
and god doesn’t know what products he needs to clean it, god doesn’t know much, god
doesn’t know how to survive in this world.
god never took the bus alone,
god
never smiled back at girls that smiled at him,
god
never answered the phone when the number was unknown;
or maybe just one time, when he was having a breakdown and crying and
feeling his spine twisting beneath his skin—god answered the phone and, while sobbing he asked:
WHAT IS IT.
WHO IS THIS.
WHAT IS THE PROBLEM.
and the lady on the other side said:
HELLO SIR, SORRY TO BOTHER, I HOPE THE TIMING ISN’T TOO BAD, WELL
YOU KNOW
CAN YOU ANSWER A FEW QUESTIONS FROM A QUESTIONNAIRE ABOUT SMOKING?
and god says:
YES I CAN, MY CHILD.
YES I CAN.
and she says:
GOD BLESS.
DO YOU SMOKE?
and he says:
NO I DON’T.
and she hangs up the call.
and god is left all alone, once again;
deep inside himself.
and a neighbor is calling for him, the neighbor is at the window,
but god is in his room, behind his bed,
holding himself together so he won’t break into millions of pieces that would eventually fall into the
wooden cracks of the wooden floorboards because god
spilled milk on his carpet and he had to get it out.
he had to scrub at it for 2 days and a half in his backyard and
he left it there to dry in the sun, he left it there and maybe
he should’ve left himself there too; to dry in the sun.
to dry in the sun.
to dry in the sun.
but the neighbor leaves after a while; the neighbor leaves and god sighs and cries and shrieks
and yes, that’s what happens when you don’t reply to someone’s call, god.
BUT I WANTED THEM TO TRY HARDER.
I WANTED THEM TO SAVE ME BY FORCE, BECAUSE I CANNOT ALLOW MYSELF TO BE SAVED AND
I CANNOT ALLOW MYSELF TO RECEIVE HELP SO
I WANTED THEM TO DO IT BY FORCE TO SLAP SOME HEALING INTO ME
I WANTED THEM TO CARE MORE.
I WANTED THEM
even though you never told them?
EVEN THOUGH I NEVER TOLD THEM.
AND PERHAPS I NEVER WILL.
you’re being ridiculous.
god sighs and nods;
god is being ridiculous.
god is helpless.
god forgot his shopping list at home, and now god is clueless in the supermarket.
flour,
some fruit, some
meat
any meat, something, some
cleaning products, any, i don’t know, the worst they mix the better, some
matches, i don’t know, i’ll make a fire,
some notebooks, some
some
some
you always forget what’s most important.
like your mother’s birthday,
or your father’s.
or anyone’s in your life, and soon your own.
and while god is paying for the products he just bought, he turns to the cashier and asks:
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ONE FORGETS THEIR OWN BIRTHDAY?
and she replies:
YOU CEASE TO EXIST.
and he asks:
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU’RE A GOD, AND PEOPLE STOP PRAYING TO YOU?
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU’RE A GOD, AND YOU SELF-DESTRUCT INTO NOTHINGNESS?
and she replies:
I DON’T KNOW.
I AM NOT A GOD.
IF I WAS ONE,
YOU WOULDN’T SEE ME HERE.
they both laugh.
right.
right.
you’re totally right.
here’s your change, sir.
thank you very much.
and god walks home,
alone.
Lee is a non-binary poet and artist from Romania. Lee’s writing often explores the themes of god, self-love, self-loathing, hope, identity, and so on. Check out Lee’s writing on Instagram.