in the womb
of religion
i'm weightless
awash in the fluid
of another’s imagination
i’m birthed
warm and comfortable
tightly swaddled
in a cozy blanket of tales
voices echo around me
soothing my infant soul
into quiet dependency
rock-a-bye, don’t think
rock-a-bye, it’s real
you’re a broken human
only we can heal
in the arms
of religion
deeply i sleep
my eyes heavy
my childlike soul
trusting, believing, vulnerable
i tell myself
i want to be
in this embrace
forever
rock-a-bye, don’t stir
rock-a-bye, don’t see
we will decide
what you should be
i hear another voice
not without, but within
there is no echo
it’s quiet
and clear
foreign
yet familiar
i sink
within myself
to listen
wake up, you must think
let go of the zeal
it isn’t true
what they’ve told you is real
i’m afraid
i feel myself waking
i grasp for the comfort
the warmth
the familiar . . .
gone
my eyes blink open
it’s bright
i stand alone
and wonder
as if for the first time
who am i?
where am i?
what am i?
i hear the voice again,
my voice
now that you’ve stirred
now that you see
you must decide
what you will be
