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I gasped and scraped my belly on the desert, rough, torn, searing. I gasped for water that I could not drink. I have been cast out and torn down from the place of resting, but something keeps me pressing on.
Where are you, O Lord? I hear the cry somewhere in the back of my mind. Between the water turning into wine and the many lions dens, I think I lost my way. But here I am, a prophet, a preacher, a Queen, a harlot, not a virgin but a victor, in this place with He who loves me.
By haywirehay URL on 09.26.2013
dreaming of the girl i forgot i loved
topless, running around in her sister’s room
and her sister, in a blue mandala tattoo, looking at me;
teaching me about unattainably;
and i know i am in a fever, and she knows the pills i’ve taken to get here
(and the sight of her will carry me through –)
By robyn URL on 09.26.2013
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.