my mother taught me how to think of blood, and how to yearn for it in the name of
forgiveness. you must hold it in your palms, and stand under the sun for 3 hours each day,
until the blood turns rancid, and then, you must dump it onto a fully-bloomed flower, and then
run back home quickly. close the door. close your eyes. kneel. pray. pray. pray. pray until you
feel thorns in your spine. once you're in deep, slow pain, believe that you've been granted
forgiveness. 

dear girls, and boys reading this, always, always, always ask for forgiveness. 
for what?
for asking for a mother, and sister when you're hungry, and tired, in the arms of your father
for asking for the sun when the moonlight chokes you 
for letting your still skin fall on your fasciae, and muscles when you've emptied an entire
bottle of pills
for aiming to kill a mountain
for being dumb, and deaf in your sleep
for looking at your hands full of blood-soaked stitches when your mother holds them.
beg for forgiveness to the sap of a dying tree. beg for forgiveness to a fossil.beg for
forgiveness to droughts. be unafraid, and call to the beings that watch you while you sleep,
that gently caress your hair. beg everything but god. god is a narcissist, and narcissists only
grant pity.

let some fever spread within you, and don't talk. the world can't tolerate a docile, undying
child, with a halo on their head. the world aims to kill what's fiction. the world shall marr you
with mud, and cobwebs, and the mesh of plants, and sputum until, and unless you kneel.
your body shall be gassed, and your eyes shall be wrapped in seaweeds, while your mouth
gets stuffed with cotton. they won't cut your tongue off, they'd slather it in salt. a young
fawn's tongue will be slathered in salt, and then rinsed with water. they shall prepare you for
rituals involving skulls, and satans of the 4 religions. they shall place a crying baby on your
lap, and curse you out. then, my baby, you will be purified. 

they won't cut off your tongue, but they'll watch you close, as your veins get flooded with ice-
cold mucous, as your brain houses tapeworms, as your nerves wrap around themselves.
they'll watch your contamination. 

i believe, on the day of your forgiveness, the sky would be devoid of the sun. i'm sorry, my
baby. but you must let this happen, and you must let go of your mother's hand. 

they'll take away what you adore, in the name of being free, in the name of praising a lord
that sits on the 7th cloud, and watches the land birth dunes, and thorns, as his priests lead
for him, while they live in a "free" world. as they praise freedom. 
you'd make tea for yourself, you'd feed yourself, you'd feed your animals, on your "free"
land, while simultaneously praying, and praising the lord, out of the fear of being condemned
to a wet, dirty dungeon once you die. 

so sure, go dance, go sing, go act, but remember, you're tied to doctrines by the cults of the
world. you'd never stop fearing, child. you'd never stop bowing, child. you'd never not be
contaminated in the name of the lord, child. that's your scarred freedom, child.