limp wrists

his brawny figure, divinely confused in discomfort, 

lies alone. each muscle shaded with soft hues,

he’s left with abs protruding and limp

wrists. 

adam’s flaccid body strewed across the earth 

as michaelangelo stroked god’s finger erect– 

scolding, scratching, separating

the two in that cracking chapel. 

father and forsaken He floated away

draped in red arms wrapped around and time continued. 

when i made him angry, my dad

picked me up by my wrists until they couldn’t move– 

wrists strangled wrists straight

wrists nailed to his palms.

He let His son’s hands hang hollowed on that cross. 

who doesn’t have daddy issues 

if He created us just to leave us

on that little brushstroke island green and grounded? 

frankenstein had the power to sew him

together however he wanted, but it was never 

good enough. i don’t think they get why

i’ve lost my manly wrists. all those years spent 

reaching up for someone who never wanted me 

as gravity pulled my wrists down by the hinges 

to where He sent me: hoping, praying, 

forgetting. men are leaders men are power men 

are christian men are masculine

men should be men not with men 

god is a man. i don’t think so, 

i know what a man is.

He lies next to me now– 

His sculpted frame sunk beneath white sheets, 

His firm chest pushes and pulls.

He holds my face gently in His palms

 as i fold my wrists into Him.

for the first time bent, but not broken, 

strong because His body holds them safely. 

no longer alone and stranded,

only ever reaching out now so i can 

feel Him.