“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

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