We don't believe in God
I have never doubted the ability
of a womans rage, and
the floppy arc of a chosen mans
black leather belt
marring my skin with the days when
I was bad, but you were good
Monday is called opposite day
Church is where we went to pray
So why did i pray
At the foot of your anger
Like you were the God
and the sacrifice made
was my sanity
This poem is about:
Me
My family