kī anthony

in the end maybe this was the problem, after
all: i was never going to listen. or—i did. listened to
your spiel about how He knows all my twisted
ways, about Him telling you when i lied. i had to
acknowledge that this, at least, was an untruth.
Him and His divine wisdom and His omniscience
and He never once told you any of it. instead
He and i formed a truce of sorts. it was sheer
will on my part, growing into the sin i would
make into flesh you couldn’t beat out of it. perhaps
your body gave ground to it, me and my twisted
paths, my wandering eyes, my defiant heart. go
straight to hell i did, mama. go straight i didn’t.