Poem #4 (tw: religious trauma)

The Den of Snakes. 

Never trust a pretty boy who makes your stomach tie up into knots; an apple gone bad will make the rest rot. 

The innocent are blamed for their honesty, so they start to lie. A little girl consumed by fear, the lump on my larynx called "the truth" aches inside. 

Never trust a man who promises he's not like the rest; he'll tangle around your legs and drag you into the nest. And just like Adam and Eve were tempted by the apple he'll shift the blame on you, while the lie is stuck on his throat. 

Never trust anyone whose happiness consists on others' suffering. 

Good riddance to the bad omens surrounding. 

It’s no surprise that they ate the apple; the crispy reddish outside, the sweet juice splashing inside the palate. I take the first bite and devour it to the core; we’re all born with a black hole. 

To this day it seeks to be filled. 

Unsatisfied, the men wanted more; civilization sinned once and the Lord sent the flood. We sinned twice, thrice… 

Now the sins committed are more than it’s possible to count. 

People don’t longer mean what they preach, the book has been rewritten in order to match their white— “right” beliefs. None of this is what he’s supposed to resemble in his wise teachings. 

Women's power is determined to be oppressed, lowered down to just the outcome of men's ribs. 

You’re not a lamb, but you’re not a wolf either. Us humans are filthy as rats, moving like worms, deadly as snakes.