My god is tired of my bullshit.
As she sits and exhales slowly,
She looks at me and says
“Kid, get your shit together.”
She has a way with words.
My god is a drag queen.
She performs under the name WhipMe Houston.
And her contouring is always fire.
She lip syncs to Madonna.
And she has the crispest wigs around.
She’s your favorite waitress at Waffle House.
She smokes your grandma’s cigarettes.
She’s late to every appointment.
She watches SVU.
She drinks Mr. Pibb because she roots for the underdog.
Her voice is raspy and harsh, but always drips with love.
Yeah, my god’s tired of my bullshit.
She’s been waiting for quite some time
For me to pull a u-turn.
But I’ve been flooring it south on the interstate
And I miss every single exit.
My god’s favorite color is red like the bandana around her beehive.
My god’s name is Donna.
She came out as a transwoman at age 45.
She has a dog named Jesus.
She chain smokes every evening with a glass of Chardonnay.
She gave me free will because she believes in anarchy.
And she doesn’t have a plan, but she knows what she wants for me.
She guides me in that direction.
She removes my obsession with self.
When I take my will back she gives me the stink eye and blows smoke in my face.
She doesn’t like my taste in music, but she lets me play it in the car.
She talks to me on her smoke break.
She always keeps a pen in her hair even though she’ll never write down your order.
She reads me tarot cards and has named every star.
My god’s tired of my bullshit,
But she always believes in me.