10: Spirituality - Oct 2021

Seven

I'm a virgin, I'm a whore,
I'm a saint and I'm a demon.
I've been dealt a foul hand,
I've been cursed, with glutton's hunger, 
my blood is boiling, getting madder
through my veins, it's mingling
with my tainted purity.

My body, a greedy pleasure,
an object spoiled by lust, 
I could become any such ting, 
an alluring mother, rotten object of desire,
every single thing I do, 
every single thing I wear, 
has to pass right through the lens 
of flesh-starved packs of broken men, 
to which I can't help falling prey. 

I love Him and love myself,
at least I try to do as well, 
it's just so easy to get caught up in 
the ugly wrath of giving and giving, 
until the envy catches up with me, 
and I realize I've got nothing, 
for everything that I've gifted Him 
in confession, in the bedroom, 
it's a burden on my back, like His cross was.

From time to time I'm overwhelmed, 
I get this utterly guttural urge 
to fall down to my knees
and shed seven tears, 
one for each selfless sorrow, 
or perhaps my prideful sins.
I wish to begin again, I wish to be holy, 
I wish to suffer, all for the sake of
my faith, that I hold onto so blindly.

Blessed Mary I am not, 
rather Mary Magdalene, 
I'm a wife, a shameless slut,
blindly loyal, filled with sloth.
My love expands beyond belief, 
beyond mere pleasures of the flesh, 
my love is devotion, beyond the grave.

- L.M Constance

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