I have never been a religious soul but I found a cathedral in my bedroom in the form of your body hardening beneath the white linens attached to my mattress. It was the perfect combination; I'd begin on my knees between your thighs and sin again and again in the form of sliding you down my throat, and then I would crawl up your body and sit on your lap and rock back and forth as I prayed for redemption. I never knew grace until you pressed your kiss to my breast and I never felt a revelation until you tucked your hand inside me for safe-keeping and wouldn't remove it until my whole body was shaking. And because I have never been a religious soul I fear that I cannot promise to return to this cathedral but I'll be ****** if I don't burn it down before I go.

I'm not sure why I'm awake.

My stomach is telling me to eat.

But I'm telling my stomach not to grow.

Everyone is laughing.
Everyone belongs somewhere.

Except me.
I can't breathe.
I'm suffocating.

Why do I think everyone hates me?

my mind whispers: well, dear, you need to love yourself before you can think other people love you.

My sister runs her fingers through my hair.

Why can't I feel this loved and accepted all the time?

Why can't I love and accept myself all the time?

You've marked me the way that Ramesses II built 25 temples in his honor in Egypt and Nubia.