these things will pass
my father told me
he didn’t recognize
faggots as people
that animals must pray
to find forgiveness
i wrote my prayers in a notebook
ripped out the pages
allowed the words to scar my intestines
it only made me sick
made me break apart
the towers of my arms
and burn out the prayer
they have all
forgotten god
we allow our hearts to be filled with pistols and brimstone
innocence is a doctrine burned from our bodies
dreaming—a luxury forgotten
the soft persuasion
that understood we had to heal
i pull my journals from my veins
lay them like body bags on the ground
to spread roots in the dirt
my own scripture singed to grass
these are my apparitions
painted doors on their chests
not ready to reveal how desolate
they have become
the ashes of their sins still stuck
in the silos of their broken throats
i watch the stars
remind myself
that papercut wounds are not scars
that these wavering prayers
shall pass
