With painted hands
I say my prayers
To a God I do not believe in
I leave paint on every surface I touch
Red paint
That runs down my palms
And drips from my fingertips
People look and they stare
At my painted hands
And I do the same
Because the hands that are mine
Do not feel like they belong to me
They feel like someone else’s
Whose body is this?
And with painted hands
I say my prayers
To each God that has ever existed
But no God will listen
Because my hands bleed red
And why would a God
That I don’t believe in
Ever reply
To a simple child
Like me?

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