They told me what to believe
before I knew how to ask why
Small hands folded
not in wonder
but in instruction
Repeat after me
say it right
say it like you mean it
I learned early
that questions came with consequences
That doubt had a tone
and it sounded like disappointment
They called it faith
but it felt like memorizing
a language I didn’t speak
I watched other kids
run wild with imagination
while mine was shaped
into something narrower
something approved
Heaven was always somewhere above me
watching
measuring
waiting
I tried to feel it
the certainty
the warmth they promised
But mostly I felt
the weight of getting it wrong
Years later
I am still unlearning
the echo of those rooms
Still asking questions
like they are fragile things
Still wondering
what I might have believed
if belief had been mine to choose
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