Twisted Sins

damned1

 

I hear it spewed
from loud mouths
spit-slicked with the
hate
I was born with,
“I’d see him dead before
I saw him a faggot.”
I see clenched fists
raised high,
scarred from years
of cuffs
And I will eat your young!
(but now, “Jesus!”)
After fists come down
to pummel his wife
again.
I taste shame,
as I look upon this
table of cheaters
and whores, no better
than me.
But I am the sheep
that wears the dirty
cloak.
For it is dark
and black as
night.
Made up of all things
found on the wrong side
of the tracks.
The spot where sins
twist and dirty
souls are shaped.
Somewhere along that midnight
road, between churches
and graves,
you’ll find my stolen
spirit,
and you’re welcome
to it.

© Nicole Lyons

 

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