...imagine that you're a prostitute who's keeping a journal:
My pen is on fire
and these words I write
are the burnt sacrifice
placed at your alter every night.
Nightmares claim me as their concubine
their wicked fingers grope my dreams
as they whisper that they love me
I laugh at their inhumanity
cuz I know what true love is.
So what if I was bought and sold
to a brothel on the far side of the sea,
so what if death toys with my body?
I swear I never whored my soul
and still I give allegiance to the only truth I know
Certainly miracles are meant for me.
Every night I'm raped by despair,
yet fear will never impregnate me
I chant grandma's healing prayer
and worship til you take me
for a ride on the wings of dawn,
you lift me higher than the eye can see
Together we transcend reality.
You set me free.
2 comments:
Kacie, this poem is heavy and AWESOME! We've sure missed your gifting here at Faith Brothers and Sisters!
GROCKS!
What a beautiful poem. One of the desires of my heart is to hear one day that a story of revival breaking out in a brothel, as God breaks down all social propriety and falls in power on the ladies in the brothel. Those who have been trained to believe that their worth is gone.
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