"Sunday Morning"

She crawled underneath the large red benches,
dirt scraping off onto her pretty white tights,
her smiles, her laughter.
A giggle spread throughout the congregation.
She grinned as she heard all of their voices,
for they seemed blend, no matter what they sung.

She crawled farther, hearing the man preach up front.
He was so loud,
she couldn't hear the faint buzz of the building around her.
She sat up and placed her hands over her ears,
trying desperatly to get the dirt off of her knees.
A tear fell to the ground beside her,
aren't people supposed to be happy at church?

The back pew lied empty infront of her.
She climbed ontop of it, begging to leave for home.
Her head dug into the pew, blending his words together,
like the food her grandmother would be making soon.
She closed her eyes, washing his face away.

She did not want to listen.

Oh, I do like this. It's actually because I can relate. I'm a strong Christian, but when I go to church, I don't feel like I really belong. It almost feels like I've sinned too much to really be welcomed. And I don't want to hear all of my faults, so I tend to tune out the pastor, like the girl in this poem. That's what it reminded me of. I also really like the image you conveyed here, making this girl seem so desperate to be there, but also desperate to leave. Very nice.

Thanks for the comment, Kikyophobia.

When I was young, I swear, I got into SO much trouble if I got dirty, before or during church. That's why she was trying to get the dirt off her knees. I used to do that underneath a pew all the time. (Hated getting introuble so much. xP)
But yeah, I'm a babtist. My preachers run around and scream and do whatever. I hated it so much.
But church was fun, because I liked my teacher's and my friends... and of course, the dinner and Nascar afterwards. xD