I used to love statues, too.

Their perfect outlines, the curves of their shapes

the edges of their bodies.

Those were the popular ones.

I used to love statues with my walls down

and my heart bare.

I worshiped them like a state of being,

a mindset, a world of advertisements and brands.

They were a popular bunch.

So I broke my heart over one and the other,

the statues without names, androids with no feelings,

I shed my tears upon their coiled stone hair,

Calluses formed where I touched their fingers with my own.

Greeks and Romans praised them,

and forever their unfeeling cold stare gazed into mine

Before I realize the God that is not embedded in

granite, sediment, or marble

But only an idol made from words and other animal’s bones.