Why is it always about Jesus' Suffering and God's Sacrifice?
Where is Mary?
Where is the woman whose reward for goodness and virtue was to have her baby boy tortured and killed as a warning?
Do you think Mary the ******, Mary the Mother, Mary the human ever regretted being good enough to earn attention of her God?
Do you think she ever quietly, privately, resented her faith?
Cursed her fate to be raised on a pedestal, carved into history as beautiful, weeping, covered in gold, cradling the body of her child?
How would she feel today, to step into a church and see above the pulpit, larger than life, the glossy painted likeness of her boy, thin and bleeding, looking to the heavens to a Father who would not spare him?
Was it terrible for Mary? Did she hate her God, in the end? Or did she stand tall to the last breath, a reluctant but obedient witness, faithful despite everything?
Was as she ever torn between her faith and her heart? Her love and her fear? The choice between loss or betrayal?
It would be terrible if she was in torment, but would be terrible if she wasn't.

ghost
/gowst/

1.   The bleached whale teeth of your bones covered in layers of papery humanity, the blue of your Veins as they lie, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦.

2.   Static white and less, a phantom haunting your own skin. You were murdered, murdered, murdered by this coffin of a house.

3.   Dustless and fearfilled; can the dead die again?

Cancer took you like if had the right.
Like the world owed it something
More precious than it deserved.
( turned out that was you)

I hate it for what it did to you
For the way it stole your smile
And left nothing but silence behind
It made your body a battlefield
Then claimed victory like it had earned it.

I hate it for making you smaller
For the days it stole
The plans we made
That now feel like broken glass in my chest.

It didn't just take you
It left me here. Holding your name
Like a wound I can't stop bleeding from,
Hating somthing I can't even touch,
Wishing hate could ever be enough.

The human thigh bone is stronger than concrete, a boy in a man's body tells me, as he ***** down a joint trying to **** himself quietly. I find it funny that we weren't built to break, our bodies are so strong it takes trucks to overturn us. the funny thing is, we were designed to survive but they forgot to make our souls strong. sometimes people talk to me about the invincibility of the human spirit, and I think that sounds really pretty but doesn't solve problems like how teenagers are taking their own lives off of shelves as if they were thieves in a seven-eleven. they say the human spirit can endure anything thrown at it, but then how come so many of us hate ourselves so hard we can't see straight?
the human thigh bone is stronger than the buildings we keep killing ourselves in, And I have realised there is a big difference between being alive and living.

do you ever tell your parent that what if you can't do it and all they say is "I know you will". No mum. What if I can't ?  what if I disappointed you? what about my guilt? where do I keep this feeling? why is it so heavy? what if i fail? what then? will you still think of me as your brightest kid? will you still use me as an example for my siblings? will i be an example? what if i couldn't be that intelligent always making you proud kid? what if i fail mum? why is this feeling so heavy? where do I keep it mum? What if i fail?

I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.
My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay ***, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the color you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.
But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.

"do not borrow grief from the future"
But what if I can already see the headlights? I can hear the humming, I cannot ignore it. You will be gone. I will lose you. That is a certainty that has awaited me. I am nowhere near by.