“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

By

The fingerprints of God