I was only 9 years old with a mind that pierced like venom
at the fruit tree of creation.
And I resented that I could see myself in a mocking mirror
when all I wanted was to see the wall directly behind me.

It didn't matter when I wake because I still see the dark my closed eye lids rented to me.
The only good thing about dancing in the dark is not having to see who I am dancing with... but I hate Him.

Shoulders back, teeth flashing, and hair combed...
The mocking days loomed as they leashed me while I sniffed the buried ground because I was jealous of the breathless *******.
No! I will walk beside the Hand that bestows me and pretend like I enjoy playing fetch and having my stomach scratched so it can't ignore my Hand made zippers razored onto my skin.

So take me to church and tell me to grease my zippers with holy water so my blood won't sting the next time I drip sins...
And little girls aren't supposed to open the drawer to open their zippers, when instead should be opening the food cabinets.

Father, tell me why my fortitude lives on the same wavelengths that the fallen angel bestows on the weak...
Am I going to hell or is this my hell?