Sunday Blues

My body’s a temple
Father John’s skimmed
Barely with his fingertips
Praising my skin

Lonely on the front porch
Swinging with Tim
He asks to hold hands
I nod and I grin

Wondering, what am I really
Am I just a mold
Believe what they tell me
And do as I’m told

The secrets I’ve kept
Things mother would say
Are all in my head
Pray and it’ll be okay