In your breasts

Scrubbing away the shadows

That leave stains upon the floors

Adorn your flowing crown of silver with constellations of ginger stars

Surrender half-mast head hanging shame

Raise your chin your power reclaim

Pound your soapbox pulpit with the revivalists fervor

Radical revolutionary revulsion of state sanctioned murder

The Altar

I don’t want to be God’s regret,

I know I’m already mine

The conversations I have with myself

are no longer kind

They admonish me of my failures

point out how I could always do more

They ridicule my insecurities

taking me its prisoner of war