hero or tragedy?

the tragedy behind cain and abel forged my sense of soul and poetry. ( english is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes that will be fixed as soon as i see them )

[shewasholy]

sorry, but i am not sorry

you trail your teeth down my throat

and i let you because i am starved

for something less than love

your hands grip the flesh on my hips,

pushing me down on the bed that dips

under the weight of us—

such an unholy word,

it drips like sea water,

salt staining your lips as they kiss

the cuts

of a thousand words thrown around

like fine silver hurled

against the ground,

and a rose's thorn delving in my skin

from the flowers you bought

to make me forget your sins.

it hurts,

but you know as much.

just as you know i'd let you in

despite the blood

and all of the horrible things

said and done

like that wretched word

clinging on the tip of my tongue —

gods, make me forget

we ever sounded like us.

[shewasholy]

𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑜𝑑? i believe in the 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. the hands around my throat are harsh, the fingers roughly digging into the soft flesh of my neck, yet they never press hard enough to end me. i believe in the lies i've been fed, the 𝗂͟ 𝗅͟𝗈͟𝗏͟𝖾͟ 𝗒͟𝗈͟𝗎͟𝗌 whispered in my ear before pushing my head underwater; in the knife cutting me wide open⠀─⠀the blood spilling on the carpet floor is 𝓻𝐞𝐝, passionate shade of something i can't have. love is violent and violence is god. 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑. not to me. they burn and wound and rot. do you rot for your god? do you bleed for your god? are you willing to be the 𝘢͟𝘣͟𝘶͟𝘴͟𝘦͟𝘥, for a god that makes you believe you want to be destroyed? 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐𝘩 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑. it's yours. 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑑. there is no god.

[shewasholy]

i wrote to you

three hundred

sixty-five letters—

but the only one

you'll ever hold

is a telegram.

[shewasholy]

someone once told me that who my parents are does not define who i am, but truth is, i am my parents' child. i cannot wash their blood off of my veins, it doesn't matter how much i try to purge it out. i'll never be anything more than this agglomeration of anger and guilt, of every mistake my father ever made, every tear my mother ever shed. there's nothing more to me, i'm afraid this is all i will ever be — my parents'.

their child.

[shewasholy]

when abel was born, eve said nothing. he might've been god's favorite, but he was also his mother's disgrace.

[shewasholy]

to whom do you pray to, when you've got god's blood in your mouth?

[shewasholy]

i wish i could save you from

the monster you chose

( i love you,

you brought this on yourself. )

[shewasholy]

how dare you think you're holy enough to be saved? rotten children can't escape the maggots.

[shewasholy]

she is the sun,

ablaze and light, she burns

and burns and burns again

just to keep people warm;

and everyone loves the sunlight,

but no one could bare to be too close.

all those earths,

those saturns and neptunes,

those moons keeping her for they

are afraid of the dark,

but she is my god —

let me fall to ashes to be close enough.

haven't martyr and mercury got

the same taste rolling down the tongue?

— shewasholy, sunlight.

[shewasholy]

i have always been a feral thing —

you will learn to fear me,

i will learn to bare my teeth.

— to be wild // shewasholy.

[shewasholy]

i don't remember much about my childhood, but i remember this: i once saw the statue of a woman

naked

vulnerable

tired

beautiful

and i felt the urge to yell

mom!

i am still like this —

in every sculpture, every painting, every poem,

i search for my mother in every woman i meet;

in every form of art i see a face

i don't even remember that well,

but i do remember that i saw something unearthly

and instantly thought, that is my mom —

art in raw form.

— mother // shewasholy

[shewasholy]

i was never just a girl.

i was my mother's child,

my aunt's niece,

my father's failure,

my family's last hope

to be better and break

this endless circle of

grief,

misery,

of pain —

the blood staining the hands that tilt my chin is dripping from those same lips that kiss me on the forehead; their mistakes were made to be fixed by the wounds i carve in my chest, like a god on the back of her broken earth. i bend.

you owe it, they say.

and i ask, but to whom?

the silence makes me realize

i was already so much

since the day i was born.

i never was just a girl.

— girlhood // shewasholy.

[shewasholy]

i'd like to say

my curse end with me —

i am my own god and

butcher.

[shewasholy]

it's so poetic that i was

born in august⠀—

the month of decay.

[shewasholy]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀love isn't easy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to feel?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to understand.⠀you see, if they love me, they don't do it in a way i understand, but i know they do. i know they do.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀is that enough, to be loved by their terms?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀yes, because it's theirs. because it's their love they're giving me.⠀they are showing me a piece of their heart and saying,⠀⠀“ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪'𝘮 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ”⠀⠀…⠀⠀and i love them just as much, by my terms, in my own strange way. i love them the way i love and we find each other in the middle.

— about: love, shewasholy.

[shewasholy]

and yes, life went easier on your brother, leaving you with only pain and anger and bruised knees, but here's the truth: you're not your father's daughter, you are your mother's. her strength has passed onto your heart, her wrath is now yours to detangle, her grief is weighing on your shoulders - you were never meant for greatness. but fate is a dangerous matter, and you are your mother's daughter, a woman's child: make the gods repent.

— the daughter, shewasholy.

[shewasholy]

"the way you love me is not right."

"how can you tell if a love isn't right?"

"when you don't love for yourself," they say, "when you keep loving for someone else."

— from a never written book, ( shewasholy )