Falling Up

sunday mornings

I thought my body to be sacred.

I thought my skin to be the empty communion cup in which you delved your sins into. I thought my voice to be the sweet sound of gospel on the early sunday mornings. I thought my eyes to be the guiding light like the filtered brilliance from that of a halo. I thought my words to be those holy enough to stand in reverence for.

But it seemed that you believed my body unworthy of worship.

You did not believe that i was worth devoting your sunday mornings to.

I saw my body as a sacred burial ground, worthy of even the most daunting rituals. But you saw it as a simple dumping site, one of which you cared none for.

You cared none for me. So how am i to devote my time to you, the one who only saw me as a parasite weaving its way into your headspace?

I am holy. I am sacred. I am treasured.

But you never believed these things, and if you did you never showed it. You made me feel dull, as if i am worthless and those feelings follow me into today.

I pray that my sneaking sips of wine from the bottle remains unnoticed. I pray that my red eyes simply go without recognition. I pray that the delicate mindframe i sit in, stay a mystery.

I pray that you see this, that you understand, that you see how my body is breaking like bread at the last supper. Because i wish for you to realize that i cared for you, that many care for you, and you are following a path in which no one can follow. Not even God himself can assist.

So pause and turn, see the sunday mornings you are leaving.