And pray with me as I become a statue.
As you rob me of everything that I am.
As your cold body trespasses mine in
Blasphemous authority. I wish you’d keep
Your mouth shut. The rosary tongue that
Twists and usurps all words in rotten faith.
I will refuse all lessons taught by you.
It is my prerogative to disappear within my body.
To make it out alive, to defy your actions against it.
I wonder how you can quote holy passages without
Stuttering. What do you think will await you on the
Other side? You have blood on your sex. Who were you
Serving when you forced yourself upon me? My
Convictions never hurt anybody.
The weight of your sinful body
Cracks open the marbled grounds
And no amount of incense could smoke out
Your light-hearted guilt.
The trail of blood travels to the altar and back.
It bears its fruits, children and women alike.
And you collect the money and take a seat on the
Wrong side of the confessional box.
I will see you wander through the pits
And depths of hell and I’ll prey upon your defeated soul.
Children who distrust the hands and embrace of adults.
Women who are at the mercy of desperate men’s sexualities.
I’ll throw the book in your face and lift up photographs
Of all the lives that you have destroyed with the bestiality of your sex.
“Gitana amb mantó vermell” by Ramon Casas i Carbó (1866-1932)
Croque-Melpomene 