in the hollow
behind my heart
lurks a monster.
madness and cruelty wait,
for an opportunity at destruction.
shame and guilt
assail my reflections.
i am not a terrible person,
but sometimes i do terrible things.
how can we separate
the black isolation within
from our concept of self?
the church always told me
that sin was uiversal.
i was taught that It
appeared in the warm, curious embrace
of teenagers fumbling with zippers
and the end of conceptions
wrought by sexual assault
or physical and psychological terror.
scornfully presenting condemnation
of excessive material pursuits,
the congregation arrived every weekend
in their luxury cars and sunday best.
for a joyful hour,
before crowds filed out
to return to their lovely,
empty houses full of
eternally confidant in their worthiness
proof that He smiled upon them
and guaranteed their superior nature.
the impoverished were not saved
and they were weak and unworthy.
disdained sneers haunted
the homeless beggars on the street.
my deviance was disconcerting and
i did not know how
to fold gracefully into the flock
the way my dignified mother
and faithful sisters
yet the flowing of time
has shown me that
sex is not sin
and difference is beautiful.
sin comes not from God,
He is not a single figure in the sky.
Sin springs, wildly, from our own
to understand our own Divinity.
we have the power to
crush each other
with a single thoughtless word.
yet we are not terrible people.
we sometimes do terrible things.
we must strive to
love each other more
and leave behind our