[A LETTER TO A LOVER THAT WASN'T MINE TO
KEEP]
in this one, you escape the house built on hunger.
the idle conversations, idiotic reminiscing,
the walls that starve for praise
you no longer hope for a sense of
holiness hidden in the suffering,
no longer search for it in
mindless mundane motions
in this one, you make it,
no longer fighting for scraps,
no longer scraping at the bottom of their compassion.
you forget to take less than you are asked for,
what it means to indulge in one-ended exchanges.
in this one,
i whisper prayers across your aching temple,
feed you your share of the world until your
bones stop showing.
in this one,
you are free
[and in the next, i pray that you find me]
YOU ARE READING
HEAVENLY CORRUPTION
PoetryThe ramblings of a woman who spent too much time in confession and too little time trying to figure out what exactly she was apologizing for.
