Suzanne O'Connell | Poet

Dear Sugardaddy Jesus


I didn’t pray to get things off my chest.

I prayed to get results.


Dear Deep Pockets Jesus, I prayed.

Please fill up my empty meat with

golden sunlight.

Please make one of the Calderone brothers

like me. I’d prefer Chris, but Phil would be okay.

Please turn my hair blonde and straight.

Please let me pass arithmetic.

When will I get breasts?

I am waiting.

Will you please hurry!


Jesus was so wise. He was my brainy Heart Throb.

I drew pictures for him

and hid them behind my dresser.

The pictures were mostly of him on the cross

with the stabbed chest, thorns and nails.

I wanted him to know we were a team,

and if he was suffering, I was too.

He never said thanks.

He never said anything.


Dear Honeycomb Jesus,

can you make me rich?

And can you stop all the arguing

in this house?

Can you make my sister run away?

Please let me live at grandma’s.


Dear Glazed Donut Jesus,

You never answer me!

I am your biggest fan!

I am waiting to hear from you.

Please send me a letter

or your autograph

or some other sign.


I was at Chung King Lucky Noodle

when I finally got my answer.

My fortune cookie said:


Let’s be fair. That was harsh.

I had to do this all by myself?

It took a while for this to sink in.

It took even longer for me to heal

from my breakup with Bad Boy Jesus.

But eventually,

I threw away all of my drawings of him,

and the love letters.

And I never went back to church again.



First published in Silver Birch Press; 2015




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