I hear it spewed from the 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!”
as 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 2016