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welcome to eden
‘well i thought i was eve, but i guess i’m the snake’ - ‘welcome to eden’, samia
once i said i’m not the child of the god in the desert. but if he ever needs a son, then i offer up my boy. he can be the savior or the damned, it’s not my pick. (he finally got that son after all, but this one might be even holier). i pray that my god doesn’t let the world see my lover. i’m the only one allowed to witness his suffering, no religion is needed for him.
i wonder if they’ll mourn me once i’m gone. i hope they got to hold this body enough while they had it; isn’t that the human experience? to hold, hold, hold. to grasp something so tightly, so you’ll never lose it? so you’re never alone? (though a rabbi once said to be human is when we allow our skin to be pierced, and who am i to argue with that?) under the midnight moon, i get violently ill at the thought of leaving them both. i kiss my desert god. i kiss my devil. i kiss all the scars on their bodies. i still am not holy enough to save. where will my god lie when this is all over? where will his holiness go? i imagine he’ll climb into the driver’s seat and go find my lover; give the boy those letters in the backseat, he’ll know what to do with them.
when i’m gone, break this body open. take whatever it is you need from me; i don’t have much else to offer. gouge these dark eyes out, i always loved how they contrasted my lover’s. carve out that heart of mine, split it between my boy and my god. place my brain in the palms of that sly desert god and tell him to offer it up to athena (even if it isn’t much). i also want my god to be the one to break my rib. maybe he can create something from it. or maybe my bones are incompatiable with all the good in the world; down to my core, i cannot find happiness (it does not live in me). puncture my hands and feet before dropping them somewhere in the desert. let the earth figure out the rest. i don’t care, i’m off to see mother christ.
i’ve arrived in heaven, the wind whispers around me: ‘welcome to eden’. i meet lady christ and i think she’s lost. (i got into heaven, but no one bled for me to get here). an aura of confusion and meaningless sorrow surrounds her; so thick it takes over my mouth (can i consider this a kiss?) in heaven, i am not recognized. i stand by awaiting instruction, guidance, acknowledgement. (i’m like a dog waiting for a command. tell me what to do tell me what to do tell me what to do tell me what to do tell me what to do). this eden of mine robs me of love and devotion; am i in the right place? there’s fear in my gaze as i look at my reflection in the water here; in this true holy land, it’s revealed: i am the wrong thing. this wound of mine begins to tear itself open, i guess someone did bleed for me to get up here. i just didn’t expect that person to be me (in some small way, i am christlike). as i stare at the water, i remember my god and his fears, and i watch mine crash into one another. it should bring comfort, instead it reminds me that sometimes things don’t leave (not like a wound, more like broken bone that never healed properly). instead a hole opens in my chest, now i’m aching for a life. one where i’m in the driver’s seat with my god right beside me. one where my devilish boy rests on a motorcycle. he can leave whenever he wants, though he has an extra helmet now.
lady christ asks why i haven’t named those i leave behind. i want to tell her it’s because sometimes things need to remain unnamed for us to connect with them. but honestly it’s because i’m terrified that i’ll call out their name, i’d be faced with every ugly thing inside of me. (i don’t name them to protect myself. how selfish is that?) lady christ asks what i wish to gain from all of this, what’s the end goal i’m reaching towards. i miss my god who just sat there while i destroyed myself. what happened to gods who simply watched as people further descend into chaos? what happened to the ones who let guilt crush others before swooping in at the last second to save? i hate the questions, i miss the silence. i miss a god who would listen. (but i must remember that this christ is also her mother’s child and that women are always hungry for more)
my throat wishes to scream out “send me back. send me back to the desert and let me collect bones from the sand. i’ll give my god a crown of thorns, and the vultures will come down to eat his flesh.” this isn’t the heaven i wanted, and i believe it does not want me either. maybe it never did, maybe i’m in the wrong place. take me out of eden. (i’ll grab the lighter and set my body aflame; i’ll take myself to hell.) when i get back
home, the vultures and i will worship my desert god. my devil boy can be the 13th apostle, it’s a lucky number so no betrayal this time. those bloodthirsty scavengers will tear away at my god’s flesh as if he’s a beast who roams around them (and he is).
oh, mother christ, let me go back to that desert. i know that
man being isn’t our father, but he is a man who can save me. you don’t need me, we’re both aware of that. i’m a fever that you cannot shake, a wound that continues to bite and never heals. all my sin exists in this heaven of yours. don’t allow my bad to corrupt all of your good. you deserve more than the storm in me can give you. maybe my god got it right when he dug holes in my hell to create his own heaven (some part of me is useful after all).
what apple do i need to eat? point me to it, let me leave. take me to the orchard, i’ll consume every single one. i’ve been starving since birth perhaps this is what i’ve needed all along. (bitterly, i wonder if these apples would fill my god up as well. though, i doubt he would touch anything that comes from the heavens.) but these apples aren’t filling my body up with a holiness i can choke on. i always knew i wasn’t eve… perhaps i should’ve realized i was the snake. (what if i’m the apple instead? i’d let my boy devour me. consume me and spit me right back up. i’ll whisper whatever i need to make sure he never leaves my side.) someone lead me to medusa, but don’t let perseus follow. there isn’t no room for any more tragedy here.
give me another soul to pray with. i’ll do it differently this time.