Let me tell you about being raised Catholic. When you're raised Catholic, you go to church because that's what your parents tell you to do. That's what they did, thats what you will do, and thats what your kids will be expected to do. If you volunteer as an alter-server, good for you that's mad brownie points and you will probably get the bigger gift at Christmas time. You make jokes out of Sunday school, and mostly just go because they always had Oreos and punch. You memorize prayers that mean absolutely nothing to you as you recite them. You have your First Communion in 2nd grade, and are expected to believe that the bread and the wine are not just a symbol, but actually Jesus Christ's body and blood (because they put it into a magical box the night before and it gets turned into flesh). You go to confession as often as your mom makes you, I've actually been dragged there several times. You are 8-years-old and expected to confess "your sins" which end up being "I fought with my brother" or in my case "I threw a pair of safety scissors at my brother." Or you just end up actually sinning because you are making up lies to tell the priest so it looks like you actually sinned and he can give you penance and then you can go pray a set of prayers and, wah-lah, your 8-year-old, mobster self is brand new and free to go home and play. Then you are in 9th grade, I was actually in 8th grade because I was a year ahead which gave me even less power in decision making..(just kidding, you don't really have a choice) to become a legitimate member of the Catholic Church. You get a sponsor and a Saint name and thats about as exciting as it gets. They don't hold you underneath the crucifix and brand your skin, surprisingly enough. They just swing a aspergillum thing at you and make you recite some stuff. Then you go home and eat cake with your sponsor and they tell you how proud they are of you and give you a dainty cross necklace.
Somewhere in the midst of the whole Parish School Religion process you are filling out workbooks on top of all your other homework with apostle names and words like "mercy" and "forgiven." There is also a week before confirmation where you spend 48-hours in the church basement and they try to convince you that you are there to make a commitment to God, even though you are in 9th grade and all you are worried about is standing at the cool spot on the hill at the football games and not saying anything stupid. I pretty much just slammed all of what being raised Catholic is, but here is the one good thing I took from it.

At the 48-hour thing they have some huge surprise at the end for you. They do the same thing every year, and all your older siblings and kids at the church know what it is but they aren't allowed to tell you. They give everyone a table and a box of tissues and "surprise" here are letters from everyone in your family telling you how proud they are. It's nice, but I'll always remember the letter my godmother wrote me. Let me just start off by saying my godmother is straight-up one of the coolest people I've ever met and if I could be like her one day, I wouldn't be able to complain. She lives in a tiny, brick cottage on a hillside in North Royalton with a beautiful garden and black dogs and a motorcycle. She has seen all 50 states and more, is single and does everything she loves and from what I can see, she is one of the happiest people I know. I've always envied her calm, cool independence and her knowledge about the world. Anyway, she wrote something along the lines of this,
"Lee, you know I'm proud of you. I know I am not the best influence when it comes to going to church, but my church is out in the woods and the whole world"
I've based my faith off of this simple letter ever since.
I go to mega-church sometimes now. I don't really like them that much. They're pretty cult-like too.  They keep the air conditioning too high, but always have free coffee. They always have a really pretty girl with a really pretty voice singing, accompanied by some hipster kids playing guitars. There is a whole section of young adults wearing snap backs and button-ups..I always wonder why they are there, and I bet they wonder why I'm there too because I almost always feel like someone judges me every time I walk into a mega-church; they do a really nice job of using diversionary tactics when it comes to the lgbt community...
This is the sad stereotypical Christianity I have more recently grown accustomed to though and I usually don't let it bother me because sadly I'm not at church for fellowship, sorry that's just honesty.
So why am I there? Why am I going to a mega-church?
I'm going to take a stab at what my motive is here, and I honestly don't know if it will be right.
Maybe I'm there because I like listening to pretty girls sing.. seriously though it always makes me bawl, but the good, happy kind. Surprisingly enough, the coffee is pretty good, even if they give you the smallest cups in the universe. I usually drink all my coffee (burn my mouth every time) in the first 5-minutes while they ask for your money and talk about what's going on in the community kinda *******. After that, a pastor gets up there and I hesitate to put my guard down most of the time he preaches. Usually I think about, "what if this was a badass lesbian pastor, that'd be so cool..I need to find one of those churches." Then I feel bad for letting my mind get off track and then I remind myself that it's okay, I'm human and that's why I'm here.
I've gone to a mega-church on and off for like a year and I still hate the throwing your hands up in the air, clapping kinda stuff. Maybe that's the raised Catholic thing still kind of embedded in me, my mom was always so strict on proper etiquette in "God's house."  I don't like all that ****, though... I can respect it, but it's not for me. So I sit there or stand there and listen to the music and hope the pastor doesn't underhandedly say something ****** about gay people because that would **** to have to find another church, even though it's about time I do. I wont lie, I'm reminded of my strengths usually and find a lot of bravery in myself; in my humility and vulnerability sometimes, in the fact that I play my weaknesses as much as I play my strengths but I don't let them define me, and my ability to pick my battles and save my breath. I usually feel pretty good when I come out, like I can stop fighting with the world about things and stop breaking my own soul for no reason. But things usually go back to the way they were, because that's most of the battle and that's faith. It's an extremely hard thing to come to terms with and accept all of yourself and that you were defended. It will be a lifelong battle of all types of acceptance, and I might never find a physical church I actually like and feel comfortable in, but I always have the woods and lakes and oceans and the world, and that makes me pretty happy.

Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
I do not know.
Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,
I do not know.
Perhaps God is only a deep voice
heard by the deaf,
I do not know.

Perhaps I am no one.
True, I have a body
and I cannot escape from it.
I would like to fly out of my head,
but that is out of the question.
It is written on the tablet of destiny
that I am stuck here in this human form.
That being the case
I would like to call attention to my problem.

There is an animal inside me,
clutiching fast to my heart,
a huge carb.
The doctors of Boston
have thrown up their hands.
They have tried scalpels,
needles, poison gasses adn the like.
The crab remains.
It is a great weight.
I try to forget it, go about my business,
cook the broccoli, open the shut books,
brush my teeth and tie my shoes.
I have tried prayer
but as I pray the crab grips harder
and the pain enlarges.

I had a dream once,
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.
But who am I to believe in dreams?

you are my best friend

you are always there with me, wherever i go, day or night

we spend all of our time together, and do everything together

we laugh, we cry, we share all of our thoughts and feelings

although i don’t always see you by my side, i can still feel your presence

you have a fit when things are going well

you seem oddly pleased when things are not

it’s as if me feeling sad and alone makes you happy

what kind of friend feels that way towards someone

the worse part is that i don’t know how to be me without you

you are a major part of me, and have been with me for so long

although i know how unhealthy you are for me, there’s no way to get rid of you

as ****** up as it is i need you in my life

as ****** up as it is i’m not me without you


-m.j.

My body was once a blank canvas

But that hardly lasted very long

People came and they went, each leaving a distinct mark

Some of those marks are still highly present, while others have since faded

The marks that are most visible are the ones you left

They’re on my skin and on my bones

They have penetrated every aspect of my being and it is impossible to scrub myself clean of them

I can only hope that by adding to my canvas that you will eventually fade

I can only hope that someone comes along who leaves writing and art and a beautiful masterpiece on what was once blank

I can only hope that what I add to my canvas covers what you left

I can only hope that my canvas remains intact from all those who have left their mark

There is so much I want to add to my canvas

There are experiences and art and people that I have yet to know

I want to never be blank again

I want vibrant masterpieces painted on my body, on my bones, in my soul

I want people and experiences to come and leave their mark

I want to shine bright and happy to that those I reveal my canvas to

I want all that see my true colors to know how unique I am and that I am not like everyone else

The canvas of my body may have once been blank, but those days are long gone

The canvas of my body has been painted, torn, repaired, cleaned, and painted again

The canvas of my body is something that is uniquely mine and if I reveal myself to you, you better feel **** special


-m.j.

and now that i know you’re completely gone

it feels so good to look at the light of this brand new dawn.

as the sun rises i feel the past fade,

and my debts to you have been completely paid.

there is someone new, someone better,

and something happened that i thought would never.

i find myself longing for somebody new,

somebody completely different from you.

these new found feelings took me by surprise,

and i know this is better, now that i’m wise.

for i won’t have to change to keep her near,

and i really do like her, that is very clear.


-m.j.

Love is ..........
Love is sheltering from the rain
Together remembering not to complain
Making every little thing worthwhile
Changing sad times with a smile.
Love is learning to accept mistakes
Knowing when to put on the brake
When annoying habits come to light
Especially loud snoring at night.
Love is all about sharing, caring and acceptance
And of course it is all about romance.
Love is about trust. A must to survive
To keep the relationship alive.
Love is learning to forgive, starting again
When an argument sends stuff down the drain.
Holding each other, protecting and laughter
Giggling under the sheets, looking after
Each other when things go wrong.
Love is breaking into your favourite song
In the car when snow melts falling from above
Gently once more falling deeper in love.

Everyone's entitled to their own opinion.
And mine is this.

The loneliest moment is when you're sitting on your bed crying and you scroll through your contacts but end up putting your pone down in the end and not contacting anyone. Because 90% don't care at all, 9% are just curious, and that 1% left over. Well, they're starting to pull away too

**This is true loneliness