You're trauma.
Memories, flooding
into places that
usually do not
fill, have not been
full before
You're my pain
my hope
my little faith who is-
n't so small, ignored
at all

You're a warped record,
a broken pew-
a longing to be held
in the coldest of
nights by the
history of arms in
me

You're my religion
and you could hear it
if you opened your
wings,
lay your sorrows down,
your bible down,
the holy ashes of
Wednesday
down

You're my country- my baptism,
so let the waters flood you
too