“We’ve all written so much about holiness by now”

but we’ll never be holy, and that’s the trouble
isn’t it. There are car crashes less violent than my body
it’s glutted itself on scars, on the way that god feels
inside, where it hurts, where he can twist around me.
Holy is a word we apply, when it aches, when we’re manic
when looking at streetlights feels better than existing
I know, I know, holiness is getting old, we’re all
swallowing god now, but what if we danced, what if
being holy (that fucking word) meant something more
than burning, meant something more than fighting, fist
meeting teeth, teeth meeting skin, meant more than
a fuck in the bathroom stall of a seven 11 where someone
had written about your suicide attempt (number 6) in
a sharpie marker, i’m not afraid of god, i’m not afraid of
the way he leaks, the way he hums and screams, prayers
in my mouth taste like stalling, taste like leaving, god isn’t
in alley ways, he’s in bird feathers shoved down your throat
he’s in the way you love your family despite the violence
they pushed inside you. holy isn’t a word anymore, it’s
feeling and feelings don’t always make sense.
we’re not holy, we’re god



(prompt from @nosebleedclub)


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