Oh, how I’m glad that God’s not a man.
If he was
I’m sure that the full week of Creation
Would be done in a day
Sloppy, unrefined, the bare minimum
he wouldn’t have chosen a specific people
But made sure the whole world
Knew him
Worshiped him
Brought him women and wine to enjoy
And served him hand and foot and backside
As he used Earth as his own sandbox
To experiment and play around in
Like a child who could not be denied.
Oh, how I’m glad that God’s not a woman.
If she was
I’m sure that each day of Creation
Would have turned into a month
Since she would take so long to decide what was best
For sure
And she would choose a specific people –
That being women –
To set them on high as rulers over the globe
Only for those women to insult her
Criticize her for their own inferiority
And, instead of invoking her wrath,
Cause her to alter herself and the world without rest
Like an entertainer existing for approval’s sake.
And both, in the end,
Dissatisfied or humiliated with what they had made,
Constantly seeking the highs of beginning again
Would add and delete world after world
Ad infinitum
Or at least until they decided it was pointless –
They were pointless –
And deleted themselves.
Oh, how I’m glad
That God is God
Because we’ve got enough god complexes down here
To know we’d be damned otherwise.
Morning's Early Dark 