I am the one who is holding the rosary.
I try to be kind and humble, inside I'm a monstrosity of estrogen and hormones.
I cannot let these wicker ropes hold my hand.
I'm bounded to these boards with needles in my hands and a thorn crown.
Stripped bare, cut like a pare.
Having to make my own efforts,
day after day, I am watching hoping to not become a stray.
When the rapture in the sky and ground open up, we all are revealed for our true glove.
Are your playing Jesus, or Saving hell?
We will all know if your intentions are truly well.