You opened your eye in a church,
but you carry a tomb in your soul
your first words fell off from
the mouth of a priest—
grains of commandment:
Thou shall not ‘this
and ‘that’
things you planted
in your heart
for he set a path before you
so you walk in it, you are perfect
as the pulpit that protect the man
who dug into the centre of your thigh
at twelve and a choir master
who stole a first kiss
from lips that have now eaten the
forbidden
fruit.
Then you try to unlearn religion,
but are met with the
impossibility of language, people and places
embedded into your skin
as sin, you cannot hide
night drowns you in
whiffs of smoke and
bottles of booze
and dawn delivers you into a circle
of intercessors with hands locked together
knocking heaven’s door, on
a quest to rescue your soul
from hell.
They tug at your skin,
but your feet has wandered
too distant to regard their voices
No one sees that you are a
caged bird
and that’s why you sing.
you beg them to unclasp your wings
you soul seek a release
so you could fly.
