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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 30, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 30, 2018





Velvet fig leaves brush against my skin.

I am marble; I am the sound of skipping rocks.

I am the sound of those smooth rocks and gemstones thumping into placid waters.

I am green, the color of ferns, the scent of summer and freshly bitten apples.

I am the taste of deceit, the sting of blame on the tongue.

It pinches each taste bud and climbs the wall of the back of your throat until you cough up the name:



My name is creation. My name is the red and grey,

Like finding cobwebbed drawings on a cave,

The sound of dripping water,

Unexplainable warmth,

Overlooking a jungle overgrown with trees, bushes, and flowers.

Mountain lions roam,

Thousand year old blood smeared on the walls.

My name is a radiant heat; the feeling of cracking your neck.

It is the intimate stretch of sweaty hands after a race.

My name is an ancient heartbeat.



My name is God, orgasming on His celestial purple throne.

I am His bliss;

The moment where the daylight meets the sunset

The moment where the colors splash against each other.

It is the moment of blood and water coagulating.

It is the moment of temples crashing and pyramids rising.

It is a python going in for the bite, venomous and euphoric.

I am born into His glorious keeping.

I am His image, His possession.

My nakedness belongs to Him.



He sees me.

His gaze slithers down my caves and swamps and sugar plum valleys.

With one swift motion, His copper muscles rippling in deafening slow motion,

He acts. I appear.

Materialized out of collected star dust, gathered from lost nebulas, created from abysmal atoms.

He acts. I appear.

And there I am; my pits and plains and polar caps

My jungles, my rivulets, my deserts

There for the taking.

There for the seeing.

And I become an Earthy wonder.



But then God starts kissing my neck

I’m clenching my jaw

And His spit is trailing on my skin like bugs crawling inside my veins

And His kisses are blooming into bruises

And the hair on my arms and my back and my inner thighs is standing up

And God whispers with a booming fire, “Does that feel good?”

But the truth is that God doesn’t give a fuck if it feels good because His immortal erection is clouding His omniscient vision

And as long as God’s celestial pre-cum is dripping through His motherfucking jeans, He won’t give a fuck if no words can escape my lips and I feel like I’m on the brink of vomit

And the bile is like nail polish remover clambering up my throat.

God’s grip tightens as he moans into my goosebumped breasts,

“Oh, Eve.”


My name is the juice dripping from lips.

My name is the sandstorm of betrayal.

My name is the punishment, the blame, the guilt.

My name is the red and black flashbacks that turn orgasms into tornados and masturbation into clouds of pollution in the pit of my stomach.

My nakedness was created for the eye of my beholder.

And when God’s fingers plunged deep inside my grapefruit gorges,

He was allowed to dig and mine, and yet I kept none of those sweet golden seeds.

And when His fingers excavated my trenches, I could feel no pleasure.

He numbed me. His touch became routine.

And when my rambling fingers travelled down my own sinuous canyons,

And when my rambling fingers stimulated my own midnight stained hips,

And when my rambling fingers discovered ecstasy,

You condemned me. You called me vain. Called me dirty. Called me your extra virgin slut.

You poured my own virginity on top of me.

So I became terrified of my own nakedness.

I became a nude; on display for all to see but myself.

You said,

“That’s a dirty thing you do,



But God never expected that one day, I’d steal back my own body.

God never expected that my rocky mountains would become volcanoes.

He never thought I’d break.

He never thought the gashes He so carelessly inflicted would release sweet, sweet heat.

He never thought it’d scorch Him, torture Him, blaze Him, destroy Him.

He never knew the power of my spewing rage, my ignited mania.

He never knew that I could ooze, erupt, cascade the fires of my ancestors.

I am deep black and purple, like a plume of monstrous smoke erupting above a mountain.

I am each and every rock crumbling to the bottom like meteors.

He forgot that in between His thick, grimy fingers, I was alive.

He forgot that when He pressed His leather lips against my breast and murmured,


I wouldn’t forget.

He forgot that when He took my body and crucified it,

Caked me with blood and gave me a crown of thorns,

That I would one day rise too, just as His son did.

He forgot that my body was electric.

He forgot that my name is electric, too.

And my electric eels won’t swim in the saliva of His gaping mouth.



My name is the bitter taste of nectarines in your mouth.

My name is a rope tied around your lungs.

My name is God, bleeding on His ethereal throne.

My name is God, raping me as His cosmic cobalt hands writhe and reach.

When He screams, it rips apart the beads on the angels’ rosaries.

You can see His silver teeth as the glass beads hit the floor like shattering glass.

Shouting my name, screaming it, tearing open the chasms and canyons of a soul full of pain:



He’ll never forget the taste of rust, the metallic bitter aftertaste that will linger for millennia.

Laying on a bed of dried up nectarines,

God is dead.

His last words were the sound of His golden nails grating against a chalkboard:



© Copyright 2019 Danielle Gallo. All rights reserved.

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