poetry// illness

God is good to me.
I wait & I wait & I wait
And each morning I rise
I stumbled out of bed
And stay frozen there
Sometimes.

God is good to me.
I bite my tongue and let the blood collect in my mouth
I tear up my clothes and scatter them around my room
I sit & I sit & I sit
in the filth of my own sin.

God is good to me.
I gather up my strength and I summon the sun
Call on the clouds to part and I pull the bright blueness of the sky to cloak me
I bathe & I bathe & I bathe
And let something divine rain down on me.

God is good to me.
I burrow deep into my own mind
A dark and scary place
It is wet and damp and it echoes there
Fears bubble up and implode as
Everything I hate about my own mouth oozes and pools around me
I cry & I cry & I cry
And somehow I have not died yet.

God is good to me.
I wander around the city and use my
Eyes to carve
My name on the sides of places
And I blow kisses to the bridge
I stay & I stay & I stay
And wonder if the river
Seeks refuge in Loneliness too.

God is good to me.
I stagger my breath and let myself panic
In between every exhale.
Better to be safe
Than
I am sorry & I am sorry & I am sorry
Wading in the depths of shame until I lose the ground
And I fly through the water at last.

God is good to me.
When I remember faith I make my bed
I mark my day by the movement of my body to the
Covers and so I begin things this way
I let go & I let go & I let go
And so the bed sheets rise and I descend into
My own sad story again.

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