Julianna May

Let Go, Let God
(Content Warning: Self Harm)

She tattoos her wrist
“let go let god”

and the swirling line
beneath is another

means to hide
raised skin scabbing

her liver
cleans more blood

than god asked
David to spill

she tries not to spiral
down the clouds

in her veins
but they are muddy

with whiskey and fear
of no absolution

so she crawls back
to the altar again

spikes the grape juice
downs the bread

goes home and lets her
blood go to god

Pandora’s Box
“And now: it is easy to forget / what I came for / 
among so many who have always / lived here / swaying 
their crenelated fans / between the reefs / and 
besides / you breathe differently down here.” - Adrienne Rich


Besides, you breathe differently down here
among the sinners
a shepherd with few sheep.
It’s hard to stay busy, calm
turn to other activities,
you are human

after all
Adam was still accepted
after his fall - his problem
too was a woman
with breasts free
and Pandora’s box is so easy

Breathe easy.
You know you can quit
you know they’ll forgive
those who trespass against
and lift you back to the pulpit
designed just for you,
cross on the front for you.

Cry a little tear
so it’s real.
So they won’t take your eyes
which caused you to sin
you can come right back
right back to the box
right back to the cross and back
again. You’re human after all.
And you breathe differently down here.

Sanctuary

Go to the sanctuary!
A reverent tomb where you toast
with blood in remembrance;
a crypt where feasting on Jesus’
flesh is savagery allowed; praised.

A divine place that devours
your self and sexuality –
then spits them in the grave
with forefathers, crusades,
and witch hunts.

Oh, gracious tomb
where people are spoon-fed
regurgitated carrots and peas sermons.

Sanctuary... something barely felt
in your bones and being,
yet supposed to be found
under the
emaciated and judgmental eyes
of a congregation begging to be fed
more than flakes of white-washed skin
from a man they don’t try
to understand.

Lay down your yearnings,
you won’t need them there.
Let god’s cum fill you to the brim
with salty indifference of the world.
Shower yourself in his invisible affections
Leave others to deal with afflictions.

Where you are buried in that tomb
every Sunday, may you find asylum
from a world on their knees
begging for your comfort.