Grace - essa may ranapiri

I touch Jesus with questions on my finger tips
Bubbling like thoughts in a fish tank
Drowning in the taste of salt water
Stinging the holes in your hands
How can you see with my breath fogging up your lens?
This isn’t a conversation; all I do is cry like a child
Without a light
And too many nightmares
Am I just a story you’ll return to after dinner?
Please don’t dog ear the pages
And keep your elbows off the table
These questions swarm like locusts
Screaming “Only the Devil doubts”
Painting red on floorboards
Which I chew to pulp in my mouth
Waiting
For a voice in my head
To tell the truth
Poor John never had a chance
You would say something like
“It is your face that draws my gaze
And not the artistry of this platter”
Blood stains the silverware
Now these two pink fists
Trapped in problems
Clenched in rigor mortis
Gaze in awe at the sun
In the belief that a blanket
Could provide me any warmth
When every thread is a tripwire
Set up to a Middle Eastern mine
I
Can’t
Do
This
Peel off my whitewashed skin
Separate my flesh from brittle bones
Trace a hot blade over my heart
And cut out the filth in my veins
With your sword of forgiveness

Contributor's Note

My name is essa. I am doing a BA with my two majors being English and History. I am now in the second semester of my second year at Waikato University and all is going well. I have been into writing stories and poetry for most of my life and I am very grateful for the opportunity that has been provided here. 

 

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