I'm Sorry, God (Louis Toliver Jr

I'm Sorry, God (Louis Toliver Jr - Swartz, LA)

I am just a soul.

God, I don’t know much about you, except that I am a part of you. I will never let the world separate us even though it has tried, and is trying. Now, there was a short time we had a miscommunication and Lucifer created a wall between you and me. He sealed me inside hot darkness. I lived in darkness. Hell. There were so many lost souls around. I saw no light ahead. That was until a dark soul asked why I was shining while we stood in line, we always stood in line. But a line started to form behind me suddenly. It was then I realized that you had been shielding me with light.

I’ve never really taken the time to truly apologize for the wrong I caused rather I realized it or not. Hell is a messed-up place to be in. I’m not going there. But, you know, God, I’ve never met any harm to anyone. So, instead of letting my regret build-up, I will let my walls come down and I will shout, “I believe in God!” I may not be a role model, but I’m no demon. And Lucifer and I never hung out in hell. I’ve been a fool enough and I should know by now that you are my true guardian, my man, my woman, my hero, my saint, my love, my everything. I thank you.

Let’s celebrate you, God, by continuing to spread the good you have given us the ability to know. I swear to God if I can function today and until I die, I will always trust my gut and focus on my spirituality. Let me never forget that if I may have cast my shadow on the wrong paths, that I held you as my compass, my savior and friend.

Mountains may be high and valleys may be low, but my God is level and on I’m his path. I’ll stick the road and follow the map. No stops. No detours. No exits. I’m focused.

Amen.

Comments

Ash Wednesday (Brian Falcon - New Orleans, LA)

It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...

Louisiana Words Remembers Jorge Arturo

There’s nothing that hurts more than when we lose someone from our Louisiana Words family. But, the beauty of our writing movement is that the words of our loved ones live on with us. On June 20th, 2023, Louisiana Words Allstar, Jorge Arturo, moved on from this world leaving our hearts broken. He was a charismatic and talented human being. Jorge resided in New Orleans, LA and had been active on Louisiana Words for over a year. To honor Jorge’s life and work, we will be sharing his writing and live performances all Summer 2023. Please help keep his spirit alive by sharing his work. We know that Jorge’s words will connect with our readers and we hope to keep his spirit alive. Jorge’s first submission: “The Dog Show” debuted on February 6th, 2022 and is his most successful piece to date. In 2022, Jorge spent 10 weeks in the top with “The Dog Show,” “Weavers,” “They Say Love Kills, This Time It Really Did,” and “If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport.” His la...

Nobody Said There'd Be a Day Like This (Sam Ray - New Orleans, LA)

I know how this should be: I've seen it, you see, In soap operas, Movies. Your eyes are closed, As if in sleep. Perfect peachy skin Atop a snow white pillow Under flawlessly matched sheets. The heart monitor, Quiet bleeps. The ventilator, A steady hiss. None of that is this. Your eyes Stuck open Seeing without sight Yellow sclera Dumb tears streaming. Tubes, taped to your face Delicate skin torn Where nurses Repositioned them To feed you To heal you You never liked being told What to do. Your whole torso spasms Spastic, Every 40 seconds. A machine Forces your lungs to act. Your hands are warm From hemodialysis But don't respond When we each grab one Give it a kiss. We spend the day Brushing your hair Telling stories Singing songs. Praying prayers. You're not there. Hospital staff Are more lovely If less pretty Than on TV. When the time comes They gently walk us From the room Close the curtai...

Search This Blog