When someone like me bares their truth,
lets the wars inside finally show—
what do you do?
You persecute.
Because you think I should have strength, should have courage,
should “Fight the good fight” and come out on the other side exactly how you want.
“God is by your side,” you tell me.
“All things are possible if you trust Him.”
And you say this while watching my jaw tremble,
my hands shake,
my voice fall apart.
How does it make you feel?
Powerful?
Supportive?
Like some true believer delivering salvation?
If it does, you aren’t.
You look at me—
a so-called “child of God,”
a soul you claim He handcrafted—
and you say I will only find real happiness once I find your version of Him.
I already found God.
But people keep shoving Him at me
when I’m barely staying above the water,
when the waves are swallowing me whole.
Like the second I struggle,
every trace of my faith disappears in your eyes.
Why do I have to be perfect for Him?
Isn’t His love supposed to be unconditional?
Why do you compare my wounds to His?
Crucifixion to crucifixion.
Blood spilled to blood shed.
His sacrifice displayed like glory—
mine treated like shame.
If we’re all meant to be like God,
why is my becoming treated like sin?
The comparison alone is enough to reopen every scar.
My blood pours because I’m begging—
not just to be seen by you,
but by God Himself.
Every night I pray,
not to erase myself,
but to heal the parts of me you won’t let me honor.
You tell me to “pray away” what hurts,
but it’s not the queerness that wounds me—
it’s the silence,
the hiding,
the fear of being looked at like I’ve failed the One who made me.
If God will love me as I am,
then why do I shake when I see two people in the corner—
laughing,
smiling,
holding each other with a love that doesn’t apologize?
Why does something so beautiful make me feel so ashamed?
Because people like you say God will “fix everything.”
Because I know I need healing—
but you’ve convinced me that healing means becoming someone else.
Someone straight.
Someone silent.
Someone safe for you to love.
But God doesn’t ask me to change.
People do.
You do.
And I’m tired of confusing your judgment
with His voice.
The inspiration behind this poem comes from thinking about how many people are judged, mistreated, or even hurt just for being themselves, especially when it comes to their identity and faith. When I wrote “The Lie of Conditional Grace,” I wanted to show what it feels like when others use religion to shame someone instead of support them. My writing process involved focusing on emotions and using repetition and questions to show the frustration and confusion the speaker feels. I structured the poem like a conversation, almost as if the speaker is talking directly to the people who judge them. The main themes I explored are faith, identity, pressure, and the struggle to feel loved without conditions. As the author, I am someone who tries to express real feelings through writing and bring attention to experiences that people don’t always talk about.