Churched Out

 It was a week before Christmas and I was angry.

I mean come on, everything that preacher man said in the pool pit was a sin and a lie.

Folks had to be crazy to believe his mess.

Sex is bad, everything that feels good is bad, everything I like to do is bad. I must be losing my mind, I have to sit in a box and pay him every week to be good and go to heaven. Wow!

Here I am feeling bad about my own natural feelings that God gave me, while this preacher man is feeling good around Christmas and I’m broke.

What kind of voodoo is this?

Why does everything that I like send me to hell?

Frustrated at him and his congregation’s money game I decided to play the evil serpent in his Christmas play and reveal the truth, but his sheep were to blind to see. 

I’d become a slave to this preacher man’s dream of a gold church on the hill in his father’s mansion. I’d become a slave to this man’s heaven, this man’s church, this man’s cult. I’d also become an enemy for revealing the truth.

In my own prison, I put my Santa Claus hat on and stole Christmas by painting his pure church black. I was churched out.

Hungry, and left alone, I’d become a black sheep.

I couldn’t take it anymore, independent and upset, I spread my black wings and flew away while that sad excuse for a preacher shaved the fur off of his sheep and sold it to make a profit.

That man is making a killing off of my misery. 

Churched Out