FORGIVE ME, FATHER, BUT I CANNOT SAY I'M SORRY.
I ONLY WANT EVERYTHING — my sun-baked hands have dug into this dusty, sharp gravel more times than i can count, seeking conversion, striving to repent, and yet i reel at the sheer thought of absolution — AND IS EVERYTHING SO MUCH TO ASK FOR?
IT IS BY NO FAULT OF MINE THAT THEY TORE ME FROM THE STATE OF EVERLASTING COMFORT — that they ripped apart my holy body and put my heart into another chest. that someone else's murderous, cynical soul sticks to its ribs — I'M NOT TO BLAME IF THESE THOUGHTS ARE NOT MY OWN.
FORGIVE ME, STILL, FATHER — I DID NOT KNOW EVE WOULD SOMEDAY RISE FROM A POND OF MY TEARS, blasphemously naked and dripping wet in holy water.
SHE ROSE FROM A SEA OF MISTAKES, HER BARE FEET IN THE FILTHY, WEEPING SOIL.
SHE WAS A PART OF ME I THOUGHT I HAD DROWNED.
YOU ARE READING
HUMILITY
Poetrya distasteful collection of unholy experiences. © all rights reserved juno / summertwine
