Published by: Gabrielle Vergara
Date Published: November 10, 2022
Time Published: 11:28 AM
Category: Poetry
Theme: Religious Guilt, Queerness
Back then, catholic school taught you that
women were made from the rib of men.
Just like the writings on your school desk,
there was a space carved for you on a man.
Without a man, you were worthless.
Without a man, you had a missing rib.
On the edge of your bed, you prayβ
Lord, where is he?
With your knees on the floor, you beg;
Lord, please complete me.
You were younger then.
You knew so little then.
The prayers you wrote,
and the burdens you carriedβ
They kept coming back to
men and men and men.
But you couldn't come back to them,
and you couldn't accept that either.
Because you were told you were made for men.
Because you were told you existed for men.
But now, thereβs a girl on your bed,
who lays softer than your duvets,
and smells nicer
than your laundry detergent.
And suddenly,
your whole worth is defined
by the empty space
of where you used to lay beside her.
Your skin only feels real
where it meets her fingertips,
and when she says your name
like mumbled prayers in the night.
You were told that you couldn't exist
without a man.
You were told thatβwithout a man,
you would never be whole.
But when she kisses you softly,
you know you exist.
And when she holds the flesh above your ribs
you could never feel more complete.
No comments:
Post a Comment