poetry// to know mortality in theory but to be in a body designed to reject it in actuality and why that always leads me back to God which I suppose *is* the entire point. 

i wait for God here
between the night and the rest
of all things i know.

i teach myself not
to ever say my own name
without folding in

God does not arrive
because that’s just not how it
works. and i learned that.

but still i struggle
to teach my bones submission
without fracturing.

i try (failingly)
not to cry over the world.
it dies. i learned that.

but that’s just not how
it works. He built my skin out
of earth on purpose–

so of course i can’t
help myself that i feel this
much over plain dirt.

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