Hidden

I.

“Take me to church,”
the song goes and I can’t
help but sing along, wondering where
church really is.
Pines scratch at the sky,
jet contrails are blemishes with
cobweb blood on the blue skin
of heaven.

II.

She leaves notes in the morning
while we sleep in and you can tell
she’s trying;
no one can replace a dead mother
I tell myself
so when she bugs the shit out of me
I tell myself
she’s trying to join this family
but maybe I’m angry because
she’s trying
to love you.

III.

I curl my legs around you and can’t
help but think of spiders,
you know, what their legs do
when you find them dried and dead.
“Take me to church”,
the song goes and I think
maybe heaven is this,
when my body feels like the sweet
taste of candy,
I go
when I’m alone with you.

IV.

Talking to her is like digging
dirt out from under my fingernails.
I tell myself
it’s because of the way she treated you
in the beginning before
she was trying,
but maybe I’m angry because
she’s too much
like
me.

Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com

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