sonnet twenty-eight

uncle walt and pastor frank in cahoots
with history denied me of my roots.
they sold in bulk and cloaked in white guises
blockbuster religion in two sizes:
the backslidden sort which only pollutes
and golden girl size with attributes
perfectly pressed and winning all prizes.
a beige hell without a rainbow in sight
would have been my certain undoing
i headed to find reprieve for my plight
and sought the nearest altar. pursuing
tradition instead of truth. then contrite,
ran away, my faith at last renewing.