M’fhíorghrá

she says, and I believe,
in my skeptical way

I believe and I honor
in my distant observation

she says, and I commit,
in my all-or-nothing way

I rush over the edge and
I pray through veils of
discouraged faith

she says, and I hear,
I read the language of
unintentional words
and impossible honesty

my eyes see fingers twitch and cheek muscles flex, a shoulder pointing toward, an elbow turning into a guard

she says, and I try, I give, I fight

what I give her is unprotected and that is my sin, unable to give only what is right, and just, and clean, I give the whole story and

she says, I’ll take it,

I say I’m sorry, I don’t wake up pleasant or friendly, my anger Burns and I need to adjust my eyes to the light, from staring inward the darkness invades me

she says, I’m sorry,

and I repeat, I repent, I’m not what you think of as a person, I’m a painting of atrocity

I’m a song written on a battlefield and the tune is not comforting

My lyrics are full of blood

she says, I hear music in your madness, your wildling fire, I see dreams in your hands, your tired determination, I taste love in your poisoned smoke, your whispered damnation

and I give, and I ask forgiveness for the gift, I beg for consideration

I see the violence in my mind

she says, I will be your shield

I feel thunder in my bones

she says, let your lightning strike here

I taste pain on my tongue

she says, I will love this flavor

she says, and I believe,

we belong

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