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separating god from man

my belly is soft land spilling over with memories of daggers.

stoic shame from the war of my childhood rests in valleys, settles in sinew.

as a girl, I learned my worth must be laboriously clawed after, that I would remain never quite in grasp of something I wasn't entirely sure existed. so many moons later, sitting still pulses this body frantic, my mind clawing after justification for redemption.

I don't know if my father is a victim of the church or if the church fell victim to my father. I do know I keep both at a distance, unsteady in my grief. regardless, whether I stand on battle grounds or sit in a pew, hymns play in the background.

recently I saw a painting of a woman consecrating another with oil. I gasped, desperate to have my healing power cultivated in plain sight. FeminineWisdom permeates my soul, hydrates growth under soil.

my heart heaven swells a little more each day, tries to radiate light, but is stuck in flashbacked loops.

elizabeth ann

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