Freddy Nyezi
for so long I thought you were breathtaking, I learned recently that I was holding my breath around you. I was gasping for air and I didn’t even know it.
for so long I thought you had washed away my sins, that I was baptised in your spirit but I learned recently that I was drowning. i think my lungs are still to learn that what they've been breathing is water, they don't know that you have never breathed life into them.
for so long i wore my heart on my sleeves and held on to the hem of your shirt, holding on to the hope that the simple stroke of your silk on my skin would purge me. that i would be sanctified by you but you only snogged, smooched and smacked your lips with mine in the name of sacrilege and not that of your own, or that of your father. Rose of Sharon, you could never deny Him; I don't know how I thought you smelt just as sweet.
All my offerings of gold, and frankincense and myrrh, thinking that they were like garlic to vampires, keeping all those who would suck you off, or suck your veins dry of the namaqua wine that courses through you, at bay, but really, all my offerings were just embellishments on a Christmas tree.
You offered your blood as the wine, and your flesh as the bread and, for so long, you sold yourself to me as sustenance only for me to learn that you had offered your hand to my neck and your nails to my flesh, you were digging into me, the soil of my skin staining your hands, life oozing through the stab wounds and I was the only one catching you red-handed and everyone was left thinking that you were saving me. I was screaming “red rum” and they all thought that I was asking for more of your blood. you were multiplying two fishes and five loaves and everyone was feasting at your table.
I could never confess to you being my personal lord and saviour because you have to be shared, or, rather, you want to be shared with the rest of the world. my faith in you — or, now, the lack thereof — is not enough for you. You want more, to be wanted by more and all I ever wanted was for you to want me more. And maybe my pearly gate and picket fence dreams of us aren’t enough to keep you here, within the four walls of my mind, of the church that I build you up or erect you or exalt you in.
and so you will depart as quickly as you arrived, ascending back to whence you came.
but, anyway, happy birthday to you,
sweet
baby
jesus
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