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Once upon a time, I did actually believe in God... But soon came to realise that Godlessness served me better. And beyond that, that the stories just did not make sense - I did not believe.

Am not attempting to be offensive but am sorry if I've caused any offense. This is my take on a prayer I used to recite over & over again as a child, in hope of redemption. Waiting to be saved from the sort of childhood I wouldn't wish on my enemy. But alas, there was no external agency, only the habitation of my own...and through that, through inhabiting my own agency, I found something far more exhaulting than feeling the love of a deity, the protection of a deity who would apparently let me burn in hell for NOT believing in him (classic misogynistic bullshit), I found the beauty and freedom of self reliance and ownership, of writing your own chapters and verses, of holding your own internal sermons...

This poem is about sex, yes, not faith or spirituality but personally I believe that when you connect with another human being in this way, it is one of the most reverent experiences we are capable of experiencing & engaging in. It is a diss to the idea of grace in my mind that sex, for the sake of sex and exploration, for the sake of beauty and love are sites of shame and punity, unless under specified circumstances. I'll go with grace I think...and go in grace.

GRACE

Hail Mary, full of grace

(I was born on a Tuesday, so i waited in grace & patience for this temps de l'amour to open up a rift in time & space and allow heat to glow and lava to flow into rivenes and fissures, previously hidden from sight... I. Am. Alight. And have no desire to be put out.)

The Lord is with thee.

(With the correct amount of reverence I look up at you, towering above me like an inferno, I am Dante and Venus and Persephone...you are both my nemesis & my relief. I called to you in the depths of nights, so long, and now here you stand... above me, in all your glory. I am kneeling at the foot of your well. You offer your sacrament, you are dripping with need and pure  unadulterated lust...the sinner in me wants to submit not repent...)

Blessed art thou amongst women

("...I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands upon me, who does not doubt my courage or toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman..." #AnaïsNin)

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus

(you do not wish to make a vessel of me, I am of no use to any vain or earthly desire in you to plant your seed in fertile soil... my womb is of little significance... all you desire is to touch the beauty that God intended as a hook in the action of co creating little baby Jesus's of the future... to harness that reverence and lose yourself in the pleasures of the flesh... I am more than simply a willing participant... I am awash...)

Holy Mary, Mother of God

( I want you to worship at the cup of this, my alter, drink deep of the river that flows betwixt my thighs... I am open... wanting...minus reserve...and as all the best night time flowers do, as the darkness of desire descends, i emit the scentual blooms of the incandescence your ardour brings... Waterfalls have nothing upon you or I..as we cascade down, drowning out all that came before...)

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

(If God had not intended procreation to be used for anything other than making babies, then she never would have made it feel so earth shatteringly good... a design flaw in what is supposed to be an image of perfection. Technically we are sinners... That old Catholic guilt pecking away like sharp rapture at our broken souls, entwined, we lie empty, spent and glowing, full to the brim with reverence. That design flaw deep within my sex pulses as the contractions course through my being... If this is sinning then I do not want your prayers...all I seek is loves sweet release, as worlds collide... petite mort)

Amen

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