i was never baptised.
but still, i kneel in my dreams.
waterless.
weightless.
waiting.
the pews stretch long like hallways.
the stained glass won't look at me.
i open my mouth and moths come out.
soft-winged.
apologetic.
the altar drips.
wine or blood, i can't tell.
they told me not to ask.
i sit in a room full of girls with locked knees and bitten tongues.
we all pretend we're not bleeding.
the priest speaks in riddles.
he said god sees everything.
but he never seems to look when it matters.
i learned early that pain was meant to be holy.
i confess.
forgive me, father, for the wanting.
for questioning.
for thinking my heart was enough without proof.
the ceiling blinks.
the candles hiss.
a hymn plays backwards.
somewhere, someone is clapping.
but it is not for me.
i wake with ash in my mouth.
my hands folded.
my knees bruised.
i wanted to believe.
god, i wanted to.
but shame was louder.
YOU ARE READING
I WAS THERE, I THINK
Poetry─── if you're afraid to write it, that's a good sign. i suppose you know you're writing the truth when you're terrified. ( poems, rhymes, truths )
