thomas aquinas taught me well

i keep my worry coiled tight

around my stomach,

a constant throb of pain

making sure i wake violently

every single night, vomit

creeping up the walls of my throat.

i keep my grief packed into my heart

so it always feels full, so i am

always empty, but never feel like it.

the cremated ashes of every

love letter i’ve ever written

seep out of my ventricles

and travel around my body,

a sickening train to remind me

of all the loss i have carried.

my lungs fill with my guilt,

aspirating the muddy shame

every time i breath in,

shallow enough so i don’t drown,

deep enough to have me

coughing up red river clay,

staining my hands copper, bloody.

my body has become a shrine,

organs laid out on the altar

i have built out of my own mistakes,

tucked along vases of bitter yarrow

and pitchers of rubbing alcohol,

my own summa theologiae.