“I want to be bruised by god”- a line of poetry tattooed on my shoulder
There but for the grace of God go I
Restless, wandering, assaulted by want
Cornered by the very comforts we cling to
We can howl. Demand. Stomp our feet. But we cannot cease to be.
Like fruit, Rotting in the bottom of the crate, bruised
The fingerprints of God