I am a god who never wanted to be holy
Somewhere between my prescribed blowjob eyes
And prettily breakable bones
Is a person who’s been run through with advances
And doesn’t want to be approached at all.
They don’t remember what not worrying about the motive under the table
or recall trusting the hands opening for a shake then dealing
Trust they won’t wander toward places they want, cover my mouth, reach inside my sternum and pull out in a clawed fist whatever makes me write poetry, paint the mountains, and love somebody
I have met people who would eat my soul right in front of me, not from spite
But because there’s a reverence in consuming a person in front of them
Watch me claim you; watch me worship you so deeply you are inside of me
I have reached the point where I would rather burn my temples
Then garner praise or prayer.
If I cannot have it on my terms, I don’t want it at all.
Lucy Jones (they/them) is a BIPOC, queer, and southern poet from East Tennessee who cares about the weight of words. They are a firm believer that poetry influences and shapes our reality, a sentiment that bleeds into their writing and is expressed with their free verse and confessional styles. Their identities influence the diction they write with and the content they write about, from the trees in their backyard to the abandoned buildings in their hometown and the experience of being mixed in a predominantly white community. They write to capture these images with poems, because if even one reader can feel a little less alone in these experiences, they feel lighter.