Tag Archives: martyr

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If God was real

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If god was here; He would leave.

……..………

If god was here, he would notice the stabbing pain that shoots through my ankles and shins.

Who knew I needed this many failing joints to stand up straight?

……………

If god was here he would burn for the 15 new martyrs buried under our silence and the desert sand.

………………

He would tell you every time my daughter did not come home.

He would watch the unmarked desert graves burn the edges of every soul in this colony, like paper.

He would wonder why none of us have moved to stop this.

…………………

He would rage.

He would scream.

They would put him in a 72hr hold.

…………………

He would grieve for a million eternities, at how little any of this guilt can fix.

……………

There is no god here.

No community. No solidarity. No people.

What will you say when you meet him?

What of our souls will remain?

…….…

What will you say when you meet him?

What of our souls will remain?

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in another life you were better

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Rod Serling haunts me;

The way my father intended.






You leave copies of bell hooks out when we fight;





While your boyfriend calls me a pussy. 





In another life you were better;





In another life we were better.










I owe the people $128.





You owe some broken girl-child from the mountains everything.










You of all people were supposed to understand me.





You gave me every book about myself that you have never read 










I watch the tendrils of apathy and capital coil;





You could not hold the pain of a widow if she payed you 








		
	
			

	
	


				
					



	

		
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Labor Shortage in Omelas


				

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I will myself to hold the taste of this failure in my mouth.
Just one more flavor my white parents did not know how to cook with.





I smother the bitterness of asparagus and your contempt in garlic and white wine.





if god where my dinner guest;

He would ask me which brown woman we owed for tonight’s spice blend;
He would remind me that none of us have ever lived anywhere but Omelas;
He would remember how the acid of the lemon juice cut through the grease and your vitriol.





There is no violence or abuse
This sous chef pretending to be a line cook; did not teach me how to plate.





Salt. Fat. Acid. 
I have always held my own magic.