Poetry by Mary Sims
a corpse in bloom
A corpse torn open, carved out & can you kill what was never alive?
you find a way
you find a way.
Belief collects in hope & how much must be taken for acceptance?
you cannot call this giving
any longer–
but can you call something that never died
a
corpse?
Sacrifice is not your name & still
you become it–
maybe this was fated.
There is a lesson in this
but you do not care to learn it.
Hope breathes–
chokes on hypocrisy and definition, stutters humanity through gritted metal
& they call it
chaos.
A savior is labeled a sinner in their moment of
salvation, called a false prophet & attacked
but you were never anything they hadn’t already made you
a god is stuffed into little boy bones
& cries to be
found
& the masses swarm until
sated. Hope gives until there is nothing of itself
left. And then some.
You are many things
& you wonder if one of those things was ever
alive.
A corpse torn open, carved out & can you kill what was never alive?
you find a way
you find a way.
Belief collects in hope & how much must be taken for acceptance?
you cannot call this giving
any longer–
but can you call something that never died
a
corpse?
Sacrifice is not your name & still
you become it–
maybe this was fated.
There is a lesson in this
but you do not care to learn it.
Hope breathes–
chokes on hypocrisy and definition, stutters humanity through gritted metal
& they call it
chaos.
A savior is labeled a sinner in their moment of
salvation, called a false prophet & attacked
but you were never anything they hadn’t already made you
a god is stuffed into little boy bones
& cries to be
found
& the masses swarm until
sated. Hope gives until there is nothing of itself
left. And then some.
You are many things
& you wonder if one of those things was ever
alive.
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Mary is an 18-year-old aspiring poet and writer who is currently working towards her degree in English. Her poem is also featured in her chapbook, I-Boy unmade, which can be found on her twitter @rhymesofblue.
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