The Blood of Christ

By Serena Phillip

 

Be the person that every boy wants to date 

and every girl wants to be, her mom repeats. 

Little did she know how gay her daughter was. 

People like to be around people that are happy— 

The advice pings around the twelve year olds head 

until it lingers all the way down to her toes 

affecting her walk, her speech, her developing mind. Completely unaware of this blatant 

Dilution of personhood, 

She sits in the pews of the church 

watching the entranced lines of people 

Swarming towards a cup of wine. 

Who knows what’s actually in that cup— 

Could be grape juice 

Could be the priest’s piss. 

No matter what—they’d still drink it. 

Gulp it down in hopes of eternal salvation, 

Or because they’d do anything 

this person told them to do. 

Who was she to talk— 

She did too. 

But what do they do when there’s nobody left? 

Sit around in silence hoping for the second coming? She wouldn’t know. 

She didn’t even know how to be angry. 

Not really. 

That’s reserved for the people who tell us who we are supposed to be.