I like you, Nick Flynn.

Ta-da. Here it is, the poem and poet of the year. It's pretty good, but it's all rushed together like stream of consciousness (that's probably what makes it good) or something. Don't try to make too much sense of it, it somehow fits into place and makes sense on its own. I like it a lot, even though I try not to affiliate myself with any sort of religion. I thought I was taking a leap of proverbial faith when I read this, but I wasn't. Nick Flynn ends up pretty much voicing my thoughts on this topic. Flynn writes this as though he was there when (and if) Jesus was around, and as if he knows Jesus' thoughts. It was in the "Faith and Doubt" category of the website, and I picked it specifically for the "Doubt" part. Only because I was curious about people's reasons for non-believing.

This poem deals with the unknown of Jesus and his death. and why, oh why, Jesus had to die in the first place.

It's unique and makes me think. Makes me wonder if Nick Flynn was a child when he wrote this in 1960. Just the words used and the way they're used makes me lean towards a less educated person than a college professor. Just a comparison, no insult, really.

 If you happen by this, try to read it all the way through.

jesus knew

By Nick Flynn b. 1960 Nick Flynn

unlike you and I jesus knew he’d die

some days a headache woke him it

lingered nothing terrible but the word

hung around his temples like this

soul everyone wants but can’t find jesus

knew he’d die he just didn’t know how

& that bothered him sometimes & then

he’d do one of his little bootleg tricks

what the hell, didn’t hurt anyone

didn’t make anyone disappear for-

ever but the tricks stopped working he forgot

why he did them & what for he confused

a story about a guy named jesus

with a story about a father he never knew

& it all began to hang like a motheaten coat

pulled out of a trunk on shaky days hey let’s

return to the scene of the fucken tragedy at least

we all know how it turns out instead of this end-

less uncertainty hey let’s sell our souls a few

more times no one’s really counting (those

little papers you trade for your sins,

what do you call them? anyone? no?)

—anyway—jesus this jesus that

god of nickel god of dime

right, the real jesus he was lost he walked in-

to the desert not far really his friends his

disciples he told them he’d come back

like us he said this every time he left but jesus

never said wait never pointed to the sky

never claimed he’d rise again never asked us to eat

his flesh jesus never asked anything as far

as I can tell he got tired everyday & then slept

sometimes okay sometimes un-

bearable, the dreams, the father

pointing a finger at everyone a finger we can’t

even look at.