My Catholic Upbringing Revisted in Mind

I was a child once. I used to carry my backpack to school and get no charity from the nuns. They just cursed at me in Latin and raped my intellect in the corridor of youth. They knew I was the only Protestant girl in my class of 40. I guess it was like I had handed them the 95 theses for homework. Yet, I still wore the crucifixion around my neck. Plagued by the curtain of Catholicism, I was sure I wouldn’t take the easy way out. One day it ought to get better and you can go via one of two roads in life, some say. I wanted to choose a road of gratitude towards God. I was a child of Him once too.
The walls said, “bring your creativity under Catholicism.” They always liked their bigoted motivational posters hanging on the walls of time. They always liked to call me Puella Ignorare. As if, because I had esteemed God without works, I was not an inheritor of His Grace. However, God knew they were misled by the Saints. Each day I would be beaten like Christ metaphorically and by rulers. “You’ve pronounced your words wrong again, you young, vulgar, disinherited one of His Kingdom. When Kingdom Comes, thy will be done as in Heaven as it is on Earth.”
“I’ll write my name in the blood of Mother Mary, for the profit of His Grace” I said. “I promised I’m saved! I asked Christ.”
"adversus bonos mores huius civitatis!”
Still, she beat my nude buttocks as the Romans would have smiled upon. The children all giggled like well-indoctrinated demons, “She’ll…rot in Hell…rot in Hell…rot in Hell…rot in Hell…rot in Hell…rot in Hell…rot in Hell!”
Then a boy began speaking in tongues, “clam ver ati smug long clam bra smung loin quam drumg gnomb lum quan bra smug smug loff twun crumb,” all the while slapping his circumcised penis against his belly like an invader from Gaul. Still, others just made crosses with their hands against their body (to be more conventional).
“I am actually a Calvinist, not a Protestant.”
“Onvicium adversus bonos mores!”
“Burn the witch!” They droned in unison…