im the angel you read about

Death is a confession.

An amalgamation of life.

As I am presented with….

Myself— all I’ve done and all I haven’t done.

I stand as God.

The whims and woes of

My almost good, my evil, and my

sins.

I lived under the Fig Trees.

Feasting off her fruit and plucking her leaves.

I’ve scribbled blessings and fortunes into her trunk,

Snapping the branches just to keep warm under the summer sun.

I took from life but

Never gave.

Not even to myself. I just take.

And take.

And take.

I dragged myself to the alter. On my

Knees that dug into the dirt.

I’m like a nasty fly being swatted in

A home I don’t belong in.

A rotten apple that bares no seed. Written in stone:

I am Woman born to crucify myself to bare witness

To men with barely beating hearts. Under my skirt, always

Under my fucking skirt.

Violence was gentle.

The Cold

Sting of that night

You laid with another, that was

The Violence

I couldn’t shake.

Regardless of you,

They wrapped me in serpent skin, pointed, and called it my

Human Nature, branding me the Mary Magdalene of the

21st century.

Teeth barred and

Bloody. Angel wings

Torn from

The fall.

Rotten.

No Seed.

Mary. Mary. Mary.

#single