When I asked my mother what stars were made of,

she said that they were answers, one for every prayer
that I had prayed, a little received sign from the heavens
signaling that my words werent in vain.
I was 6 when I first prayed a bargain.
I clasped my hands as tight as I could, and held my little
palms close to my chest, and leveraged all that my little
heart could bear to part with, mustering courage to demand
a little more than what seemed like my fair share.
You can make me ill if it means my dog gets okay.
My dog, did, indeed, get okay, for she was just giving birth to
a new litter, and I did, indeed, fall ill because I had never been
good with change of seasons, and that experience left its mark,
I knew truth, and now I had leverage, and it tasted like fever, bitter.
He will answer all your prayers just like he answered that one.
Thats what my first brush with god was, a clinical, impersonal business
deal
And each of those stars started looking like receipts with the words
paid emblazoned on the thin, white paper, and soon I was running a
secret little racket on my own, just me and him, unwitting, unwilling
partners.
He loves you, youre his child, did you know your name means gods
treasure?
But I didnt feel like a treasure, treasures are cherished, and kept safe,
I was a little plunderer, digging through my days spoils, looking for
something
I could barter to try and fill the hollow in my chest that felt like great
void,
till one day I couldnt trade, couldnt steal, couldnt barter, couldnt
feel.
God doesnt give you want you want, he only gives you what you
need.
But I didnt know a benevolent god, I didnt know a loving caress,
all I knew was the unbending pawnshop owner I spoke to every night,
with whom I managed my karmic accounts and their balances with,

just before I slipped, slightly helpless, into bed.

God will punish you for your insolence.
I was called a brute, a barbaric fiend; I was told that there was
something
dark in me, and soon, I started believing the same too, convincing
myself that I was fundamentally weak, I could not love, I could not
care,
I could not feel this loving presence of which everyone else seemed so
aware.
But then, I stopped trying.
What forgiveness could I receive from a power that I did not see,
and what love could I expect from someone I could never respect,
what benevolence did I seek from something in which I didnt believe,
and what vacuums could I fill with insubstantial legends and myths?
Stop. Breathe. Breath again.
I started breathing slowly, filling my chest with music, love, and
beauty,
and I stopped chasing faith in crowded allies, choosing instead to walk
away,
and I found myself in empty fields, setting up my own fences, my own
defenses,
and now when the night falls, and I look up to the sky, I dont seen
indecipherable
messages mocking my illiteracy when it comes to the matters of faith
and heart.
All I see are glimmering, sparkling stars.