god forbid we forgive mary of magdala.
god forbid we forgive.
the collection of stones thrown that hang around her neck,
(she smiles tightly and promises it’s adornment.)
in this case, the crowd was free of sin, you see. how could such a crowd achieve the whoredom mary did?

heavy is the neck that bears the shame. one that turned for mouths, that gasped under nooses and hands and her own words.

god forbid we forgive the girl from magdala.
the body, and no more. the vessel.
her name with malice in the clergies, a sensationalism that must’ve made peter himself smirk.

here lies the magdalene, here lies the hole.
here lies the whole of her sins, every implication in her smile and laugh.

and so, the women jeered too. the women jeered too.

blessed she must be, to have been forgiven, and to love and to carry such loyalty.
truly blessed, truly wretched — a name that tainted deserves no sliver towards divinity.

sin is a woman, sin came from woman.
the fruit that has scorned man from her creation.

a piece of rib that one could do without.
a ***** they should have ****** on sight.

they’ll go for the knees before they go for the face. they stay and wait for the scream,
how her face will curl, unsaintly and impure.
(peter’s having a field day, but he won’t let you know.)

hallelujah, says the first blow.