As I maintain the whip,
As I kneel upon the ground,
I strike myself, not in sin,
But as eternal man profound,
-
I grip the cat’o’nine-tails,
Ever it has been sharper,
I bless my back in welts and wails,
Until I feel no longer.
-
Fifty lashes strong now,
No sin had been committed,
The longing to feel just something,
For love to find, be fitted,
-
O’er and o’er I feel the sting
O’er and o’er I’m branded,
For the darkness inside of me,
For the sorrow I’ve commanded.
-
Ninety lashes, still not feeling,
Swelling, my tongue I’ve bitten,
Until the hopelessness in my heart…
Is dead and long be ridden.
-
Adrenaline coursing and still no pain,
I’ve conquered all but you,
The questions in my heart are somber,
Your face in my mind is glued.
-
One hundred and twenty strokes now,
And forever still seems far away,
Overcoming this paradox,
To curse this mental pain away.
-
I strive for physical touch of blade,
For emotionally I am torn,
I’ve felt nothing until you,
Since the day I was born.
-
A wretched sense of memory,
Caresses my cheek and I
Rip apart myself with malice,
For this nastalgia defied.
-
I wrap the shroud around me,
The thin linnen to my flesh fuses,
I tear it quickly without flinching
Off my gashes and bruises.
-
Still nothing has fluttered,
In the pain recepters,
I wonder how my life could,
Ever be this disevered.
-
It aches and moans with cracks and groans,
My whip, serrated, ne’er faulters,
My robe in flagellation,
Lays down my blood at aulter.
-
One hundred and fifty after the shroud,
I confess I could strike harder,
Perhaps it decidedly best,
If I think myself of fodder.
-
Nightmares are but where I dream,
Yet dream of this, I don’t.
If I were spied upon, I guess,
They’d beg me stop, I won’t.
-
The shroud now soaked with blood and flesh
And false hopes of years of rot,
This punishment is not what it seems,
It is not one to be fought.
-
The outline cry for oil dipped rope,
Has not this pain be stopped,
Moreso however I do fear,
That your love for me has dropped.

the first time i prayed i was 4
i asked god to not let father hurt mother
but the next morning i walked into the kitchen
greeted by pancakes
and my mother with a black eye
i remember how mad i was
at father
for hurting my mother
at mother
for staying there
at myself
for not helping when i heard the yelling at 3 am
and at god himself for not protecting my mother
my precious mother

mother took me to church every sunday
and at 5 years old the pastor dunked me in a pool full of water
he said he was washing away my sins
and i remembered how hard i cried
when i lied to my mother the next day about putting away my toys
because now all the sin was back
and i was scared i would never get a chance to wash it away again
but the truth is it never left

at 6 years old my father took me to church on sunday
instead of my mother
he said she didn't feel good
i watched as my father walked to the front of the church
when everyone began to leave to go home
and he began to scream
and cry
and pound his fists on the aulter
then he walked back to me when he had finished
taking my hand and bringing me home
my mother was awake when we returned
and she greeted me
with a hug
trying her best to cover up the bruise on her left cheek with make-up

when i was 7 years old i was startled awake by the sound of yelling coming from the kitchen
i had decided that this was it
i needed to do something
so i got out of bed
and walked into the kitchen to confront my father
when i walked into the kitchen
i raised myself to be as tall as i could manage
but i didn't even get to speak
before i felt his hand across my cheek

at 8 years old i sat in my room
father was gone
but there were still men in the house
because my mother had to find love somewhere
i just wasn't enough

when i was 10 years old
my mother introduced me to a man
and that was strange
because she had never introduced me to one of her men before
they are married now
but i could never love him

when i was 11 my mother dropped me off at school
and i was sat in front of a boy with brown floppy hair
he tugged on the end of my pony tail
and i turned around and hit his hand
the teacher sat me at a table by myself
and i began to pray
that was the day i was told it was not appropriate to pray in school

i was 13
and the boy who use to tug my ponytail
now sends me love letters
that i kept in a box under my bed
i did not want anyone to see them
not even my mother
because they were mine
and i prayed to god to let me keep the boy
who signed every card with an x

but when i was 14
the boy fell in love with the girl with the long blonde hair
and the pretty blue eyes
and i decided that god doesn't listen to me
so i decided i would no longer pray

at 15 the boy and i began talking again
but it would never be the same
because he always had his ******* his arm
and the boy and i watch the stars
and talk about the things we love
and she is always on his list
and he shows me his writing
he writes about her a lot
he tells me his dreams
and she is always a part of them

i am 16 years old
and i am in love with the boy who pulled my hair
and wrote me love letters
and fell for another girl
but now
looks at me when he speaks his poems
because his girl is too busy to show
and holds my hand when he is shaky afterwards
which is something she will never know

and i told myself i wouldn't do this
i told myself i wouldn't pray
but now i just can't seem to help it
i need you more than ever
and every night
before to sleep
i pray for you
to fall in love with me.