Three Years Ago

after a sadistic-pervert john

landed me in the hospital

Social Services got in touch

with the Sperm Donor.

He wouldn’t take me back.

(I wouldn’t of gone with him anyways.)

Got a social worker named Pat

who placed me with my foster mom.

Praise be to Jesus.

Girl, Veronica was homely.

Fashion? Forget about it!

It didn’t matter, though.

Her heart was beautiful

and big enough

to take in kids like me.

She cleaned me up

brought tea, protein shakes

while my jaw was

still wired shut.

Big Macs when it healed.

She read books out loud

when the headaches

were too bad for me

to keep my eyes open.

Told me how smart I was,

how beautiful.

How valuable

my life to God.

I lived with her almost two years,

kids came and went,

bouncing around in the system.

          (And I know now

          how blessed I truly was

          after hearing stories

          from the ones who didn’t get

          a Veronica in their life

          soon enough.)

But I didn’t have

anywhere to bounce

and she said me and her

were a good fit.

When I healed enough

to get around

she invited me to her church,

said it was up to me though.

So I waited

and then waited

some more.

        (Till I was bored out of my brain.

        And we were used to each other.

        And I was feeling bad ’cause

        I stayed out late one night.

        And didn’t call

        ’cause it’s hard

        to live with house rules

        when you been on your own.

        And she cried when I finally

        did get home ’cause she worried

        but she didn’t tell Pat on me.

        Girl, did I feel guilty.)

Funny thing was,

when finally I did go with her?

Church was a serious party!

Singin’, swaying, witnessing

to the loving power of God.

Christ Church Unified.

LGBTQ friendly.

They welcomed me

embraced me.

Now that’s what I call Christian.