no gods / forgive us our sins

NO GODS / FORGIVE US OUR SINS By Stephanie Meuse

Between 11 and 22 maybe, I slowly shed god At 10, he was everywhere, I was Reading my Precious Moments Bible On the stairs of our childhood houses Splitting Triscuits for Eucharists And feeding them to my baby sister Running my fingers over plastic rosaries Dutifully reciting acts of contrition— Confessing and repenting for all my 10-year-old sins I didn’t listen or clean my room, and stole lost things from under the beds of my friends I was wrong, but I was sorry, and I was better

Between 11 and 13 it was Playing my own gods Having my own rituals, naming my own penance Nail polish crosses on my belly button Church hymns on my Casio keyboard Potions, spells, any / everything Slowly retributing my childish crimes Slowly wading through my childhood crimes (shedding my childhood, what a crime) Going to church because that’s where the boys were

By 17, I guess I was tired of people telling me what my sins were or who god was or where and how to find him "and I feel god in this Chili’s tonight" and I did a little bit On network television The internet Splitting Triscuits for Eucharists And feeding them to my baby sister and in my quiet dark bedrooms In my quiet dark bedrooms I made my own gods but quickly decided they were not gods that I was not good (god could not be sneaking out after dark or taking photos for boys on the internet or birth control, right? or any of the times you fed me peanut butter to mask the smell of alcohol on my breath) So, no gods I liked that stuff but quickly decided they were not gods that I was not good At 21, and for two years, you manifested my sins SO SELFISH SO SPOILED SO ARGUMENTATIVE god did I ever deserve to be punished But no matter how many acts of contrition

no matter how many pleas on my knees There was never any forgiveness and I missed the newness of it, and how clean I used to feel and someone told me I deserved that, and I believed them (is that you god?) So I left

I left. But you left me too tired, too wrong, too sad to play god anymore Left to my own devices, my rituals led to no good My rituals were running until I couldn’t see straight Not being able to do anything until the house was right Living on seltzers and pretzels like I was just priming my belly Just fasting until god happened (maybe god was size 2) (I honestly by now had no idea)

I could have used but was past god then because if god—then not you If god—then not accidentally the wrong person If god—then Hail Mary sorrys If god—then forgiveness but no gods, and so many sorrys to say So many aimless acts of contrition that never get me to the same place, never could get back to the clean slate that was the sorrys and better of 10

(maybe God was size 2)