In confusion and shame, I have worked out my salvation.
As I cross the minefield of repentance with stone feet.
The earth sucking as I lift the weight of myself.
I used to stand up and now I crawl on my belly,
Towards the razorwire of my lusts, unable to dig,
Deep enough to escape from underneath their thumb.
Born into this place by the dust you spun.
By the people you made. By the people they made.
All of us foundlings looking for a way back home.
Latchkeyed by a sickness we all share.
And as such you have adopted me.
Pulling me from the mud, wiping my face.
Cleaning the filth and shouldering the weight.
And instead of praising you for it
We argue what your motivation was for the adoption,
Who chose who, and eligibility for selection.
While the other orphans drown unaware of their hope.
Laying tulips on their grave, as to make it easier to understand.
As if there is sense to be made of such things.
I don’t feel at home in my new house.
I don’t like my new brothers and sisters.
There is a difference between us.
And I can’t let my guard down.
I was adopted before this.
By a family of wolves dressed up like sheep.
Where every wall of the house was lined
With bunk beds and rhetoric.
Where each child was espoused for a check.
The souls became numbers and together
The body ate itself. It still does. They still do.
I was made into the feces that it passed
After I crawled up its spine
Begging for help. Begging for a father.
Shot out by the glorious machine
I was returned to the agency.
In silence they left me on a the doorstep.
What if this happens at my new home?
What happens when the wolves come back?
And if I am supposed to find my hope in you
Why did you leave man to carry it?
Was every part of us was made in your image?
Do I have to call you dad?
Do I have to play with the other kids?
I barricade myself in the room you gave me.
Locking it from both sides. For fear.
For fear of what the other kids might be.
For fear of what I might do to myself with the freedom.
Is this the home you wanted?
A house full of fear and pretend?
When we come to the table for dinner
Who do we come as?
Through the walls of my fortified room I scream.
Give me back to the pigpen of the damned.
Let me find the birth canal to crawl back through.
Give me back into the womb of which we are made.
Why must you stay just out of sight?
Like a deadbeat dad who shows up
When it works out for him.
There are times I accuse you
Of adopting me too late.
That the things I did to survive
Killed anything good left inside me.
And that one day
I’ll be left on that doorstep again.
As alone as I was
When I came into this world.
What took you so damned long?
It is in fear and trembling that I come to my doubts.
In their confession I feel split open. I hold them in my hands.
I hold them as my hidden things, new to the light.
Can I hate the distance between us freely?
Don’t leave me to my doom, I beg you.
Don’t see me as I see myself.
I am a dog with yesterday’s vomit
Warming up in the microwave for today’s meal
With several frozen portions for rest of the week.
And I will return to what kills me
Again, and again, and again.
The golden calves and the praise of men.
The thirty pieces of silver for a kiss.
Bathsheba on the roof, naked and beautiful.
Can I hate the evil inside of me?
When a child is adopted
There is a choice made, an action done.
It pulls the orphan into something new
Making them into a member of a family.
I think our family is something I can start to understand.
But your grace is harder to explain, harder to say.
But I think it’s a home in which we can exist and stay
Like a harbor’s arms or the mouth of a bay
To find refuge in the sand and to lie or lay.
I takes the ones thrown out, without a home
The orphan, broken, blemished, and alone
Who are rotten to the core, to the bone
With eyes as glass and hearts as stone.
The people the world calls a monster
Seeing them as one more perennial to foster.