You will look at him like a savior,
You will pray for the resurrection,
Pray he can put your trembling bones back together
Like straws of a bird’s nest,
Like ashes of a house burned down to the ground,
Like dust under our squeaking beds.
You will clasp your hands together saying
Lord, please save me
Every time you see him in your apparitions.
He will let you crown his head,
Although his knuckles will bleed
Every time he runs them down your spine.
You will wipe the blood of your dresses
Wash them over and over again
Try to wash out the bad taste he leaves
Every time he leaves.
You cannot wash away the shame.
The shame - like a moist, black crow
Shrieking outside of your window
Every night you try to dream of him.
Have you forgoten how he took an axe
Rammed it into every tree until the whole forest was gone,
Used the wood to light the fire
Under the house he has built you
Out of promises and dreams
As empty now
As your shattered bones
Whose ashes he shoved under his bed
While fucking another woman
At the rooftops of your hopes?
The rosary is in your hands
And you keep saying his name
It is fine. It is alright. It is okay.
There is nothing more despicable
Than to hear myself say
I am used to this.
I am used to forgiving.
I am used to being hurt
So much I do not cry anymore,
Just lay on the bed, flat out on my back
Staring at the darkness.
I am not afraid of the darkness anymore,
I am afraid of turning on the lights
And seeing that you are not here.
I have been staring at your absence for so long now
I learned how to build you out of the oxygen and nitrogen.
I am not afraid of the monsters in my closet anymore
I am afraid of the monsters I have grown to love.
Because if you cut me open right now,
Took my soul
And put it naked on a surgical table
You would see scars on my hips.
That was the first time you hurt me
And I tried to convince myself I can cut you out of me.
There is a bruise in a shape of a hand on my neck,
From all the times I could not breathe,
From all the times you wanted to hurt me,
But could not bring yourself to leave.
There are holes in my feet
From all the times you shot bullets
And tried to make me to dance for you.
My rib cage, my chest, my stomach,
It is all black and blue now,
Bruises that just won’t seem to leave.
You never raised a hand on me,
But you never had to,
Sometimes I wish you did.
If I looked at myself in the mirror
And was able to see loud and clear
All the ways in which you disrespected me,
Maybe I would be able to bring myself up to leave.
I am on my hands and knees
Again and still
Praying for a resurrection
From someone who does not even believe in God.