at the end, you see, we're all just mortals, even if we kill to inflict hell, fuck each other to have a taste of paradise, or read words to have a glimpse of heaven, we're puny wooden dolls who just happen to dream high, but we're not high, we're so ground level, our cheeks are pressed to the ground and our hands are tied behind us, and that's all we'll ever be: white teeth fuzzy brained humans.
MORTAL
YOU ARE READING
I, Girl
Poetryi am my own god, my own spirit, my own prayer. -- a complete series of 44 poems concerning girlhood, dread, and catholic guilt.
