The Virgin I call Mother, and the Virgin you call Whore

I made love to God-

he broke through my skin

to bleed

inside his love.

Am I holy now,

like Mary

because I made love to God?


is a fickle man

behind his yellowing grin

but he likes it like all men do

so he sits it out

while I do all the work

(I bleed inside his love)

but its all worth it;

like Mary

I get to be holy now.

His kiss itches at my scalp


from moisturizers


to cleanse

my evil deeds-

I am wrong

but he still fucks me at midnight;

its all good though

we both get what we want out of this situation.

I bleed inside his love

and I can feel

his son


my womb



I don't bleed for nine months because of his love


now that my belly grows.

I am holy now

but I still question abortion

(un-Mary-like, I know)

but Jesus did go on to marry a whore,

that whore

where I am first

to be seen in your eyes

I am holy for the thing growing inside of me

but not for myself.

How can I (your judgment purify)

when you scorn me

wicked girl you seek to burn me

all because I fucked your God at midnight

(I wonder what you would have done in my situation.)

I burn with God inside

of me growing


my rape dies away

inside my virginity,

but poor girl that I am

(left alone!

How can you take a God to lamaze class?)

my belly aches with hunger

my clothes are thread bare

I give everything up

to be holy enough for you.

I bleed again

inside his love

and my son curls from between my legs



as he would be now

and at the hour of his death.

I feel my brunette hairline

reseed to gray

(the women in my family go grew early, I hope God knew that when he chose me.)

I twiddle my thumbs


inside his love.

I made love to God


I can't help it if I need to boast

this son

of God

costs money

against my strong-willed hands.


no more

I bleed

inside love nightly.

I'm just that pimp who once made love to God.

I bleed for food.

I bleed for home.

I bleed for seed

and green.

I bleed for greed.

I bleed for the freed


that my love making has brought me.

I made love to God

to make a messiah;

my son

with his crooked curls,

his wayward grin


on the gusto

of the gutter that we live in.

He is (my son)

something of an enigma

but I like his wife;




she'll bleed

I think

like me

as well.

I made love to God

to bleed

and breed

my son

in the name of his creed

my seed


by cross

and nails.

My ancient son


for god

and my modern son


for the tv's.

I screamed for my son at his birth;

I'll be damned if I don't scream for him at his death.

I think though,

that I will never be holy enough for you.

My virginity begot birth

my sex begot love

my love begot messiah

messiah begot sin

sin begot my virginity.

I made love to God-

he broke through my skin

to bleed

inside his love.

Am I holy now,

like Mary

because I made love to God?

Am I a good mother for what I saved?

Am I better mother for what I watched die?

am I indifferent because I knew it to be true?

After all of this

am I holy enough for you.