a freewrite for jesus people.

this poem is for those who have drank water
like it was a wishing well
and who have no reason
to fear lions in the dark
we ought to be infected
like light
but instead,
we live like this life
is an unfortunate overlap, interlude,
like it is not birthed from the same
who bled the sky
what does lightning look like?
precise as a pianist
with erraticism like
a ripple in our wishing well
we are small dreamers,
swimming, most days,
against all the things
we say we believe in.
mercy is not a bandage
it is not reinforcements
it is not the hammer we have
weaponized it to be.



uhhh. that's all i got. i don't think erraticism is a word.