By Oscar Rodriguez
I find myself
to be
the only one
in
cut worship.
The first one
to realize
the whip
slashed
my wrists.
They promised love with some correction,
didn’t know it would stain
our bloodline.
Revealing the pain of generations behind me
still isn’t enough.
I will suffer to heal, beaten with the bricks, ingrained in your mind; angel down.
Live streamed demise, abused in public eye, looking for Psalm; the most of all.
Isolated incidents
but the butterflies catch wind of it.
Obsessed with the
effects of their pain on me,
luckily lacking their militancy of heart.
Religion of trauma,
no nuance needed.
Membership fee:
total lack of faith.
Dear GOD,
I accept the pain.
Don’t lose reign.
Dear GOD,
Shatter yourself.
Bring the end.
Dear GOD,
your blood
is mine.
Amen.