Mosaic of Damnation

 

I was six-years-old when I sat in that overwhelming cathedral.

It felt as though I was pinned against the gold-encrusted ceiling,

Staring down upon myself.

A horrifying image of bloody, impaled palms and feet

Made me tremble in fear.

Kaleidoscopic saints, whose faces grew brighter and then

Dimmer as the sun peaked in and out of the storm clouds,

Frightened me with their colorful, yet mosaic expressions.

“If you are gay you will burn eternally in Hell.”

My clammy fingers were clutching my girlfriend’s,

As we ran through the streets of Manhattan.

The man garbing a golden cross,

Wielded a wooden bat in his holey hands.

Scars still visible on his forehead,

From the merciless thorns that dug in.

I am crucified.

I am damned.

I reside in between the misinterpreted lines of

An ancient text.

“I am gay and I am a sinner.”

My face-

a jig saw puzzle of contorted confusion

as someone says they will pray for my soul.

 

 

 

 

Please reload

© 2019 Rag Queen Periodical  website  designed by M. Perle Tahat