Manifest Destiny
Was it not clear
That you hurt me
When you told me
No one loved me?
Was it not obvious
That you hurt me
When you told me
I couldn't?
Was it not evident
That you hurt me
When you told me
I was worthless?
Was it not plain to see
That I was dying inside
When you told me
To go and kill myself?
Was it not understandable
When I withdrawed myself
After you started
To hit and scar me?
Was it not rational
For me to then do the same
To myself, just a
Little deeper?
Was it not logical
That you should find my suicide letter
Next to my limp and lifeless body
After all you did?
Was my death not a
Manifest destiny?
August Conviction
Is the rush I feel in my wound-licked soul
the holy spirit or just abused, rusty
fans behind the pews, working overtime to keep
cool amid summer heat, derived
from impending fire and brimstone?
I squirm.
The pastor holds up a bible
and says, HE is joining us
HE is here, manifest.
Repent, and raise those hands!
The emperor with no clothes felt
more clothed than me right then,
the roof removed from my sin-riddled
self, marred and twisted by judgment
casket blown open, a seal broken
standing face to face
with God
or a rusty fan.