Is your church holy enough to fix its own sins

Woman by: Francisco Velazquez

You asked for man

with lips like oceans and tongue like anchor

Son of Holy

and you’d hope he’d find his trinity in you,

He wanted to baptize you

with no church but the scriptures of his hands.

He found your saint

in the shape of your neck,

He found your Virgin Mary

in the limbs of your crucifixion

His lips only knew the shape of beer bottles,

His soul only knew the shape of skirts.

He played tennis with your lips,

hoping he’d start a new game of LOVE ALL.

The bruises on the side of your thighs speak.

They are begging for your voice

to rid the exorcism that he has made of you.

He has left your bed,

But you still sleep on the floor,

Never return to the scene of the crime.

There is caution tape in the truth,

of your mouth.

Blood is plastered in-between the Wonder Woman covers he gave you

He made a woman out of your wonder,

He made a coma out of your living.

He picked your flower

for the nectar that is his devil.

You cant raise an angel in hell.

He’s repeatedly tried pulling your roots

into the filth that he has come from,

He wants to be your mother nature

without the responsibilities of the child that could be his.

He raped your Middle East and expects to build his Jerusalem in the broken of your body.

He said he loved you

He said he loved your hands

on his 6ft of monster.

He said he loved the texture of your scream

and the silicone of his stem in your country.

He said the rosary of your body

was meant to be tucked in-between his legs,

He wanted to break you like Pangea

and expect your continent to be discovered by the Christopher Columbus of his giant

He climbed the bean-stock of your spine and broke the branches.

Love was never meant for emergency rooms,

Men were never meant to lay with girls,

Skirts were never an invitation

Rape is not consensual.

It still isn’t.

He is not innocent and the only person that sleeps behind bars is the abortion of the child that lays with you at night,

He pushed you down two flights of miscarriage,

The baby shower ballons are still hanging on the crib of the he or she

that will never have their first day of kindergarten.

The piece of you that was meant to be born turned to casket that was never planned,

You see him or her or them…but never together,

Their tombstone is empty,

What can you write for something that never lived?

Their will never be a scream at 3AM in the morning,

Because the man that loved you destroyed the only innocent thing in this date rape that he calls love

His two-faced Gemini is one side of Priest

and one side of the broken Trojan condom that was never used,

He raped your Holy in his own house,

He raped your holy in his church,

He played guardian

when the only person watching was God.

He still preaches to a church that has never seen your face since the day your confessional turned into his enlightening,

He said he loved you

for making a Bible out of his sins.