Each night, he braids my hair.
Dividing it into a holy trinity of smooth waves, he finds the laugh I buried and brings it water until it is a wildflower in my throat. Yet, he finds a way to work through the growing noise, easing angry knots, self-made neglects from the day with gentle hands.
Each night, I fall asleep after soft lips have found my temple, a prayer for a healing rest made in my name. My tears dampen the pillow, and we fall into sweet silence. In the dark, my eyes find their way to the ceiling, up towards a god I thought had forgotten me.
The words are left unspoken, and yet, they wrap their arms around me, breathe quietly, slowly into my ear. I'm glad heaven wouldn't let me in, just yet. I'm glad I stayed.
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.
