When I didn’t make much of you;
When I could no longer hide the bruises;
When I refused to pretend the cracks in my skin were shadows,
Instead of pointing to your cross,
You threw stones.
You made these bones
A home for guilt,
And a place of shame.
It was then,
I gave up looking for your god to save me.
No longer climbed sheer walls,
Or navigated your cruelty.
I didn’t need your star charts
To find my way.
Stumbling through the dark
Everything we bring to the table is dirty.
Polish and rags
Will never make everything clean.
It’s why bloodstains are holy.
Like the breaking of bread
Who just need to be something to eat.
Like loving the unlovely,
Inside scarred hearts
Are fucking beautiful.