will I ever be well again?
will I ever be whole?
If I grit my teeth
and stretch and strain
will I attain such a goal?
will I ever be strong again?
will I ever be brave?
If I set my face
and I raise my chin
will I dare to come out of the cave?
will I ever be useful again?
will I ever serve the cause I believe?
If I penitent crawl
and recant it all
will the powers yet grant a reprieve?
will I ever be normal again?
will I ever come close?
if I paint my face blank
and sing the same tune
will I strike a convincing pose?
will I ever belong again?
did I ever belong before?
we are born in the like
of the God spurned and killed
and our souls with each other still war
will I ever be real again?
no – not any more real than this
for I breathe in the atoms
of rocks and of waves
and the wind that stirred the abyss
oh, Christ of the whole
the ravaged, yet real
your used flesh and cast aside bones
your sick’ning death warns
of our terrible selves
and yet, reconciles all it owns
all you assumed
is somehow redeemed
in this murderous plot of deceit?
Can our streams of bitterly
no longer sting but pour sweet?
Yes – when shed for another’s pain
singing laments lacrymose –
of those locked out and locked up and locked in
those crushed and crunched in cathedrals of spin
those non-conforming non-compus non-grata
enigmatically ensconced in statistics and data
those not on the black and white-pink or blue end
those on the spectrum where the colours and categories blend
those invisible, vulnerable, valuable freaks
ignored or condemned when culture speaks –
If such sweet tears upon your cheeks stain
they be shed like Christ’s blood, for those.