Almost Poetic

Blades as a form of prayer


Find God in the land of the lost

Find God in the hands of the woman who had blades for fingers

If I cut out all the ways I couldn’t be perfect, there’d be none of me left

It is with myself that I find belonging

It is in the way I cut my sleeves open, because I wear my heart on them

And sometimes I want to look at my open wounds and see home

Every wound is a prayer I whisper as the blood comes out of my aching soul

Can somebody find God and tell him,

I looked for Him within me, I have the scars to prove it


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