dear god,
i saw you washing my feet last night.
your touch was tender, the water from the glass which you drink. i saw how you'd tied your hair back, how the red on your lips was raw, how the tears in your eyes were both apologetic, and forgiving.
your calloused hands were cold to the touch, and i felt them against my own rugged feet. i saw you look at the bucket of black tar that seeped from my nails in disdain before i fell back asleep.
in my dream that night, you spoke to me one last time. you brushed my hair with your fingers, you forgive me for the sins i did not mean to commit.
when i look up at the sky, i wish you'd washed your hands the night you molded me out of raw sand. i wish you'd let me keep my unbroken eyes, i wish you'd seen how my base was weak, how filthy and impure the sand was, how it kept crumbling at the slightest touch, even more so when you held it tighter. i wish you'd given me the heart you gave to everyone else, i wish you hadn't had poison on your lips when you kissed me one last time. i wish you hadn't made me cruel.
you believed that putting a soul as raw and unborn as mine in the heart of a green field would help me grow into life - my lord - you got lazy with me. within the purgatory haze of weaving my fate, you gave me the sin of being alive, the sin of taking up space i did not deserve. you gave me the sin of existing beyond seclusion.
i do not forgive you, but i beg for mercy, father. forgive me, for a sin is a sin, regardless of whether it was embedded into my heart or not.
forgive me for being unable to forgive you.
