I do not want to play in your garden of Eden
Pluck the sweet cherry apple from your tree,
Full it with the white christ evil that fills our core.

I do not want to play in your garden
But to walk naked with his creatures of all colours, sizes, identities and terms
And marvel at our beauty.

Princess,
With your pink hair and overgrown beard,
You are Eden’s finest.
Who are they to say what is beautiful?

We are slaves in our garden of Eden,
Swimming in her curves.
We are not to touch her
Though we are evil creatures of moral standards and consciousness.

Ebony came and stole with it our ability of doing things without reward.
Firmly grasped by whats right and wrong yet still,
We want to destroy her gaze with our rotting fruit.

There was ****** in the Garden of Eden,
Slaughtered puppets who steal the night with misheard approval and labels.
Child, you are not a bad person for wanting something that they did not.

The lion is not the devil for killing the deer.
He is not filled with vile for kissing the creature with death.
Though we will say it was evil as we pluck the fur from his mane
and wear it around our shoulders

We are the makers of The Garden of Eden and its slavery.
We full its nucleus with verdict and creed.
Enslaved men with torn backs and sable,
now cover their backs in suits and ties,
Still whipped.

Hang our bones in a science room
and teach the children where it hurts
Do you think greatness dies young
because the earth got jealous of its beauty?

How is it we spend our lives miserable and thoughtful
when the others spend their days chasing bees and lapping up rivers?
How is it we know so much about wrongdoing and yet the doing we do is so wrong?

I have played in your garden of Eden,
And I have let the labels loiter my mind with judgement.
I have felt ashamed of my Fathers illness for that would make him weak
And felt disabled as a woman for no want of children and marriage.

Yes God, I have faced your garden, tasted the sweet nectar from your tree and sinned in the eyes of Eden.

I thought about walking until my legs gave out;
The wind whistling in my ear,
The leaves silently chiming in the context.
My hands were cold and I was acutely aware of how frozen my face had become.
Each footprint was a part of myself I left behind.
I could have walked for evermore.
Making dents in the shallow ooze,
I took the earth with me.
I tried to use its power,
its goodness to fuel my vacant insides.

Why am I so self-absorbed?
Swollen bellied infants lie scorching in the heat.
Headache. Dried. Irritated.
Their faces leak of pain and nothing more.
They are scavenged birds that vultures seek,
Nesting on their parched skulls.
I wonder if they would cry if they had the equipment needed.
They still smiled, shaping their thin faces to a grin
I stand here full bellied, nourished, hydrated
and act like I have nothing
I have the earth in my shoes,
The capability to smile.
I should be thankful,
But instead I just walk.

You’re in the pages of my book of seventeen.
I wonder if you ever get lonely.
You were always a walking mist.
I tried to catch you but you drifted right through me and left me cold and damp.
You smiled that ****** eyed smile and I still hear the perception of Morrison’s voice whenever you speak, the distant closed door.
4am your voice was chubby, soft, comforting.
8am your voice was a cold remote island.
10am your voice is no longer.
An angry yell, teenagers escaping from their cages.
I tell you you’re an *******, you tell me to calm down.
The walls breathe around us, inhaling as our blood boils a ravishing red.
I feel like I’m spinning.
Internally screaming.
Distant.
My hands shake as they stretch to their limit, grasping, I can’t seem to hold you.
I try to escape, only to feel your hand upon me, “Don’t go.”
I try to rest my hand on yours, you let go.
You fall away.
Distant.