Jun 20
Psalms to ****** Ecclesiastes; now Ephesians as I wait to know you. Where is my Paul for the Philippians? Where is my Batterson, within reason?
I wait with the Bethlehem on fire that is cast in the flames of Men in fissure. Who’s cast from the narrow, wrought iron gates, and ****** and made to suffer forever.
Now Matthew and ten thousand words on pagans; fruits of Galatians raving mad. And when you cannot see, or won’t see my heart, I only understand how to blame myself.
Corinthians to your heavenly realm; enmity in your so graceful of hearts. Are your blessed Revelations witnessing second death? Something else more important than ethics or love?
“For we live by faith, not by sight” For I was so faithful to ever play part in your diaspora of Brothers in Epistle performance, redemption and providence so greedy and perfect. Was I by nature deserving of wrath? So where is my Paul for Ephesus-sent?
O, Theism as cover from flame- the Bethlehem, now crying your name. Yet silent in that omnipresent manner, at night.
And there is no one crying left to challenge what’s divine. For my body is wrecked and I’m no Brother of thine. I am many layers of things you mock. Were that Jesus could hear you proclaim that you reject me for finally teaching myself to walk.
With many words other than hate you describe me a world that’s an endless Hell. With a vague sense of end times approaching us all, I’m walking on coals but to hear you out.
Where is my Nebuchadnezzer’s wall? Your explanation in blood simple scrawl. Daniel to Genesis to holy Qadosh; now Numbers as I burn in the thought that you implied I’m unclean and you preach and you preach and I burn so you look down at me like a pillar of salt.
I’m gone with the Bethlehem on fire that is silent in ash at the end of it all. Scatter me by the White Throne of Judgment and look on and see it standing so small.
Now Matthew and ten thousand words- you don’t know me. Galatians; it used to not be immorality, debauchery. We used to confide and find peace in reality. The ash floats and it rests and you never knew me.
I wait with the Bethlehem on fire that is cast in the flames of Men in fissure. Who’s cast from the narrow, wrought iron gates, and ****** and made to suffer forever.
Now Matthew and ten thousand words on pagans; fruits of Galatians raving mad. And when you cannot see, or won’t see my heart, I only understand how to blame myself.
Corinthians to your heavenly realm; enmity in your so graceful of hearts. Are your blessed Revelations witnessing second death? Something else more important than ethics or love?
“For we live by faith, not by sight” For I was so faithful to ever play part in your diaspora of Brothers in Epistle performance, redemption and providence so greedy and perfect. Was I by nature deserving of wrath? So where is my Paul for Ephesus-sent?
O, Theism as cover from flame- the Bethlehem, now crying your name. Yet silent in that omnipresent manner, at night.
And there is no one crying left to challenge what’s divine. For my body is wrecked and I’m no Brother of thine. I am many layers of things you mock. Were that Jesus could hear you proclaim that you reject me for finally teaching myself to walk.
With many words other than hate you describe me a world that’s an endless Hell. With a vague sense of end times approaching us all, I’m walking on coals but to hear you out.
Where is my Nebuchadnezzer’s wall? Your explanation in blood simple scrawl. Daniel to Genesis to holy Qadosh; now Numbers as I burn in the thought that you implied I’m unclean and you preach and you preach and I burn so you look down at me like a pillar of salt.
I’m gone with the Bethlehem on fire that is silent in ash at the end of it all. Scatter me by the White Throne of Judgment and look on and see it standing so small.
Now Matthew and ten thousand words- you don’t know me. Galatians; it used to not be immorality, debauchery. We used to confide and find peace in reality. The ash floats and it rests and you never knew me.
from december 7, 2021
poem from the past a day #32
also near the top of my favorite things i've ever written.
the style follows the third section of my poem One Night Stand in the Spoken Word, as a prose piece; this way of writing is fascinating because i can hardly explain why it works so well.
in the case of this poem, it works because it's very straightforward and open- maybe. that's a portion.
i spent an extended period of time essentially studying christianity, secondhandedly, through this born again friend i had: the subject of this poem. i was (am) an atheist, extremist feminist, studier of intersectionality, and a closeted trans woman, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide myself while supporting this person discovering viewpoints that fundamentally disagreed with my existence. the thing is that i also loved them (not in that way), and so my angst became this poem, and their thoughts became my coming out, and then we never spoke to each other again.
but this poem doesn't know about any of that. this poem is about being trapped.
poem from the past a day #32
also near the top of my favorite things i've ever written.
the style follows the third section of my poem One Night Stand in the Spoken Word, as a prose piece; this way of writing is fascinating because i can hardly explain why it works so well.
in the case of this poem, it works because it's very straightforward and open- maybe. that's a portion.
i spent an extended period of time essentially studying christianity, secondhandedly, through this born again friend i had: the subject of this poem. i was (am) an atheist, extremist feminist, studier of intersectionality, and a closeted trans woman, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide myself while supporting this person discovering viewpoints that fundamentally disagreed with my existence. the thing is that i also loved them (not in that way), and so my angst became this poem, and their thoughts became my coming out, and then we never spoke to each other again.
but this poem doesn't know about any of that. this poem is about being trapped.
