My Aspect of Lack

I was the last within my class to stop believing in God 

Which is, in many ways, entirely odd 

Fully vapid

Entirely contradictory to the image I hold of myself in my mind

I was the last peer in my year to spot the false priest’s tries 

To change us how he wished with old fruitless lies– 

Angry and tense– 

As if our questions had tainted him, desecrated his robes, caused some rare offense. 

I was the last one in my house to see how hated I was 

Which is tough to explain as jeering and taunts, 

Moral outrage, 

Only found purchase when aimed at my face, knives piously pointed at my ribcage

I was the last friend in my group who took the hymns off my shelves,

To put my Bibles up and begin to delve–

Headfirst, careless–

Into solitude and seeing the world not as it might maim, but as it might bless.

I have been called fast-paced and queer,

I’ve been beloved, hated, and plain

So in this way I find it strange

That I’m unique among my peers

Distinguished by my aspect of lack,

Departing through holding back;

My failure to join in outcry,

Allowing life to pass me by.

Into solitude and seeing the world not as it might maim, but as it might bless.