Had the absolute pleasure of performing at the Blue Chair’s Open Mic last Thursday (and I’ll be there again next month too, so please drop down!) and dropped a new poem. So here it is, for your reading pleasure:
When I was mentally ill, the last thing I thought about was God.
When you are
knee deep in your own vomit, cheeks gaunt,
skin stretched across features like a drum,
gold chalices and colossal buildings hold nothing for you.
Your church’s pews are empty.
You are preaching a sermon of truth to someone who will not listen
because their brain is in the midst of malfunction,
and your Bible is torn to shreds.
Miracles come in smaller packages.
Brushing my hair, eating enough,
not feeling that sinking feeling in my gut telling me
I am no longer good enough
and God has long stopped listening.
There is so much darkness in me, I can only imagine fire.
(Insert Plato’s allegory of the cave here).
What I’m trying to say
is when you’re down in the dark halfway between drinking yourself to death and spending days too sad to move,
like a lie lodged in your mouth.
And it breaks you.
You are in a pit in the red desert, nailed to a cross,
and every good day feels like the last drop of wine before his mouth meets your skin.
In this story, you are Cain and Abel at once.
In this story, you are Lucifer and Michael,
Jesus and Judas, Moses and Pharaoh.
In this story, you will kiss yourself to death.
fuck this story.
You no longer go to Church because you have already found God,
and she is lodged in the bottom of your throat.
You can feel her sometimes
on days it feels too dangerous to use your voice,
there are three steps between you, a litre of vodka and all the pills you shouldn’t take,
and you say
God exists in every hesitation, every ‘but’ or ‘why’ or ‘stop.’
Your body is a temple,
So worship in it.
It contains so much holiness,
don’t you know?