forgive me, mother
for i have sinned
i let the boy you warned me about in
not just into my body
but into my thoughts
my breath
my dreams
i let him press his mouth against my skin
i told myself it was love
that maybe if i stayed quiet enough
still enough
holy enough
God wouldn't see.
but i felt Him watching.
and i felt my dignity dying
the weight of every lesson you've ever taught me
raining down onto me in an instant
be pure for your husband.
be good.
be better than your temptations
i tried, mother.
God, i tried.
but he held me in his arms like
i was a sacred artifact
and i wanted to so badly believe i was
even if just for a moment
even if it was all a lie
afterwards, i wiped the lipstick from my mouth
as if it could undo the way i melted when he crooned my name
i lit a candle.
i knelt on my knees until they ached
i whispered apologies to God
in a dark room, wearing clothes that smelt like him
i haven't looked you in the eye since, mother
i'm not even sure if it's shame
or the fear that you'll see the truth
written on my skin like scripture:
that i wanted to be touched
that i wanted to be chosen
even if it meant i'd be ruined.
so forgive me, mother
not because i deserve it
but because i now understand
i'll never be whole again
because i feel him in the places
where a rosary should rest
because i know now what i'd done
and i hold it as i hold a hymnal in church.
because of the words stuck inside my throat.
forgive me, mother
i let him in, i let him in.