"A Friday conversation with God"
I look out my window;
Each ray of light reaching out to touch me,
A mother’s attempt to first warm a babe born to flesh and blood -Â
A weeping lamb in search of his shepherd.
“Are you afraid of me?” I ask the air,
a prominent call to a presence I have not yet felt comfort in accepting,
“that I cannot love you the way you intended me to?”
He breaks his silence, blissfully unaware of the flame and iron that brand my throat -Â
A lamb’s cry to care, scorched to his skinÂ
a million moments of safety and sacrifice,
all for his name.
I seethe at it; a child’s first beating left bare on untouched skin; pink and raw,
an innocence I had so long craved.
“Do you get sick of it?” I felt Him ask, with a love so torturous I begin to itch.
“Have I made you so unwell?”
“No,” I reply, “i cannot grow tiresome of what we are.”
Sunshine touches me again,
Soft and silent, a father’s pride passed on through a fleeting glance over the dinner table.
“i am carved by your blade, am I not?
But if you are not careful, Lord, I will die by it too.”
Light touches me once more,
but not with love, with understanding.
A being, all almighty in his power and pride,
Staring down at a sheep wounded.
For a moment,Â
I ask myself if in our conversation -Â
All my suffering and rage,
If he was reminded of his own Son, carved open tenfold -Â
A loneliness wrapped in my mother’s favourite childhood blanket,
My father’s scent of fresh linen worn into his very being -Â
For sins he did not commit?
Fingers lodged inside my throat,
I choke and call to him again -Â
Presence felt, but no answer.
Had a believer ever debated with God before?
Had the sheep ever called the Shepherd to prayer?
He sits with me now,
Upon my childhood bedsheets,
Pawing at my holy church -Â
Ground cursed and blessed in blood he born me to do so.
I look at him then, his mortal shape no different from my own,
Blasphemic and beautiful on its own.
“Do I remind you of him?” I ask, shaking with a hunger so ravenous I yearn to bite.
“You do.” He replies, yet I do not look over, betrayal laced like a young girl’s first introduction to womanhood by her mother-
Grief and fury shared as one.
“it is exhausting being your creation, you have cursed me twice over.”
“Have I?” He ordains to speak,
Sunlight sucking back through my window,
“has my image become too much for you?”
I look over then,
Ready to scatter my ashes directly into his palm,
Knife at the throat, an apology uttered to no one in particular.
He is not there -Â
A shape of grace and envy stained still into my cushion.
Sunlight returns to me once more -Â
A soft stinging of a stroke on my bare cheek;
Not an apology,
But an understanding.
I bare the image of Father and Son alike;
And all the grief gifted generation to generation.
He understands, without rage or shame,
That I am like him,
That I must like upon him,
All the treasures and treacheries he has endured,
So that He is not lonely upon a throne of light,
But that he is seen and understood.
As He exists for His first time,
too.
Georgina Layla Spendiff "Entries from a Catholic School"
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SMILE! - High Rise Invasion Stencil Fan art - first time sticking to just black and white !! very enjoyable but i’m so used to adding grey shading i thought it looked a little naked but oh well! I’m planning to do a couple more characters from this manga and i’ll be selling this design for a tattoo stencil as well!! if you get the chance please click on my blog to see my personal instagram (to watch my process for my sketches) and my tattoo page for bookings!
Hope everyone is having a great day :)
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