–but no no no I DON’T WANT TO BE LOVED, I DON’T WANT TO BE FORGIVEN, LET ME REDEFINE GOD INTO SOMETHING I CAN BECOME

I will not let this river break me just so God can have something to heal.

Does God hang out in Greyhound bus stations? I’d like to find him. I’d like to make him cry.

prompt: teeth. -j

1. the psalms are long and our voices soft, yet when i crack the windows open at the long dark sky all i can hear is the world, and it is singing. it is praying. the LORD is listening and we are singing unto HIM and isn’t creation beautiful? 2. i am so very tired of Romans. 3. you’re right. it is lovely. the night is stars are pure and the air is clean and i found GABRIEL in my back garden weeding the gold from the silver and he sang ISAIAH to me until my soul returned. i invited him in for a drink but he could not stay. we cried together. i don’t know why. he was so quiet when he LEFT. 4. are you HERE yet? 5. GABRIEL returned today and he was FUCKING coked out. his eyes were eyes and his mouth was a mouth and he opened up his yawning ribs for me and cried “COME. COME ALL YOU WHO ARE THIRSTY. COME TO THE WATERS.” 6. i want to rewrite the world, MICHAEL. i want to cross out HIS name in the books, i want to tamp down the salt and the ash, i want to start fires until all swords are truly flaming and no eyes are truly burnt. we were promised milk and honey, but the lands are flowing with RED and FORGETTING and my mouth is dry of love. 7. we are never alone when we walk with GOD. 8. then why make us lonely?

Poetry recs? Like your absolute absolute favourites

I don’t know when I unearthed this anger in me. But now I’m not just writing about breaking glass, I’m actually slamming doors. I’m playing with knives for a pastime. Learning that being brave & having no fear are nowhere close to the same thing. One means I’m living in spite of being scared; the other means I’m looking death in the face & laughing, wildly. I’m threatening to ski down active volcanoes & this is only partly a metaphor. That place fear used to live inside of me has broken windows in its house, sleeps without locking the door. I’m restless & I’ve   lost the feeling in my hands. All that fire I played with made my fingerprints unreadable. The love poems aren’t rolling off the tip of my tongue any- more, they’re burning at the bottom of the trash can, they’re sinking at the bottom of the sea. They are written in a dead language. My mouth doesn’t know how to curl around all that softness now. I’m not drowning, I’m not drowning, I’m not drowning. This anger is blinding. This isn’t what I meant when I said I missed looking like light.

modern prophets

My mother taught me this trick: if you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning, for example homework homework homework homework homework homework homework homework homework, see? Nothing. Our existence she said is the same way. You watch the sunset too often it just becomes 6 pm you make the same mistake over and over you stop calling it a mistake. If you just wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up one day you’ll forget why.