I forgot my God
for alcohol, nicotine, and sex.
Acting out a cliche
to find myself, like I got lost
somewhere between high school lovers
and getting kicked out of the Navy. So,
I tasted a bottle,
inhaled my first cigarette,
slept with a stranger,
such light sins that made me remember Him,
judgement that meant nothing to me, so again,
I’d finish a bottle, I’d smoke a pack,
I’d sleep with my best friend’s crush,
but there He was, still.
I had nothing against Him, just didn't
want the chains that I created in a mindset
influenced by paper in a leather bound book.
Trying to forget Him, like a bad comment
made at a dinner party or an awkward hug
that was meant to be a handshake, a consistent
annoyance and argument of existence,
straying more to feel guiltless to my open actions.
But I found Him in a body of another next to me,
warm and saturated with the world,
tainted by something dirty within the ungodly earth
that fights to keep Him out of schools. Skin
like molasses, sweet, thick and tan, like the bible
I had when I was a child, taken to Sunday school
and read, memorized to impress parents.
His existence was the first latte of the morning,
the cough after too large of a pipe hit, the burn
of whiskey down the throat, the tonsil stones
that occasionally grow in my mouth,
the tumor in my dad’s head.
Austin Kelly is a writer with a rather causal and boring life, but with different insights on it. He is a second year student at Missouri State University studying journalism and creative writing. He writes focusing on his simple life and hoping he can reach others through his work, a dream he's had since he was in middle school. In the end, he's just writing his mind on a page and hoping he has time to walk his dogs today.