Him/Her/me

By: Sahana Benedict

i. for Him

He looked like a prophecy i wasn’t allowed to believe in.

A voice like thunder and eyes like sin

i fell to my knees in His cathedral hall

Not in fealty but in servitude

i kissed His knuckles like relics

each one a little altar

Where i burned away parts of myself

He laughed like forgiveness,

like He’d never even sinned,

and i—

i wanted to crawl right into His ribcage

and live where His heart learned mercy.

i pressed my mouth to His collarbone

and called it communion

i think He knew what i was doing—

offering myself in pieces,

trying to become small enough

to be held like scripture.

He held my face in both hands

like He was holding back a flood,

and still i begged to be drowned.

if He said my name now

i would’ve carved it into my tongue

and let it rot there—

just to feel holy

for once.

ii. for Her

She tasted like strawberries and annihilation as I licked the sacraments from Her lips

Her eyes burned like holy fire,

and i wanted to be ash.

When She spoke i heard static that sounded like my name

On the lips of one who was never meant to love me

She wept like the Virgin, but it was my womb cradling death

i kissed Her once in a dream i don’t remember having,

but i woke up with the taste

of burned sugar in my mouth.

i crucified myself at Her feet and called it devotion

Greedily whispered Amen when She smiled like blessing

A promise that split my bones with a gentle hand

If She had held me like Mary had held Christ, maybe i could’ve died beautifully

She danced like a fallen angel,

hips heavy with original sin,

and i—

i begged for Her to damn me slowly.

iii. for me

i am the in-between.

The heretic with both hands outstretched,

grabbing at gods i am not supposed to love

i kissed Her like She was redemption

i loved Him like He was the fire

And now i burn

Not in hell

But when i look in the mirror

my mouth is filled with tears and psalms

my skin is stitched with unfinished confessions

like ripped pages from a gospel

i grew wings from guilt,

but they're made of wax and old perfume,

and when i fly, i bleed glitter

i want too much

i am too much

i wanted them so bad i gouged new commandments into the flesh of my thighs

my devotion curdled into hunger

my faith into fever

And still, i kneeled

And still, i begged

They anointed me in absence and called it love