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.