i held my tongue
until it became fistfuls
of blood,
offered it as a sacrifice
to the woman
whose abortion i avoided
because she was yellow & stale,
too pathetic
to cut me out like a cyst
when i was inevitable,
constructing myself
in the womb with
pieces of shell
& glue
she would swallow.
if her face
was ever sacred
then i never worshiped–
new life
was thrust upon me
like piles of fruit,
instantly
i was lost
between crosses
and crossed-eyes
that all seemed
to stare so violently.

at nine
god came to me
as a tree
and set himself on fire
hoping that i would follow
in excellence

but i had already held
arthritic hands in my own,
watched my grandfathers
both become water
when we spread their ashes
thin, & wondered
where was he then?

if only i had known that
this is reality,
everything earned
would be lost
like the first snow melting
taking all the glory
with it
or yesterday
when i opened myself
like a book &
buried secrets
between my ribs
never to be recovered.

sometimes
i think about fifteen
when i stomached denial
like it was flesh,
staining myself
with grapes pressed open
never to wash away
despite scalding showers
or the pumice
that slowly
carved out my figure;

i could resent
the baseball
that shattered my nose
maybe empathize
with the cancer
that spread
in my mother’s throat
but instead i kiss them both gently
& close my eyes,
not in prayer
but in the subtlety
that what i cannot see
does not exist

~

jp thorn (he/they/any) is a queer, neurodivergent artist raised in & returned to the bible belt. advocate for destigmatization & radically open communication, their work is inspired by humanness, reframing traditionalism, therapeutic processes, unlearning patriarchy, identity, & global patterns.