When gods turn to people,
I turn harsh
Feet of clay drag me to my personal morass
of absent adults, desperate fears
and fairytales that never come true.
I hunt my heroes,
hungry for revenge
I stake out my gods, hellbent
I’m needling, slicing, threading pain
It’s throwback trauma time again.
When gods melt human
instead of divine gold
They drown in gutters of my self loathing
Why, why can’t there be idols?
Why is there no one to worship?
Devotion festers and turns cold
Sticky sweet, sickeningly so
and takes away parts of me, congealed
Who am I with no expectations, no hope?
An empty void, an open space
After the gods are gone
and their debris swept away
there is a free clearing
and it’s up to me
to choose what to say.