Baptize me in the waters of something
other than this.
Give me something more than this paper-thin
sense that I am, at heart, some cruel mistake –
some flat, un-yeasted roll or one of those
stiff, ossified Gildan t-shirts,
as long in the torso
as it is short in the sleeves.
Sprinkle me with the bone-deep truth that I
belong just as I am. Like pineapples over thin crust.
And if you tell me otherwise,
get behind me, Satan.
Dunk me deep into these dark waters
until I drown in a knowing of my own realness
without feeling like I needed the blood of some
curmudgeon-God to tell me that we all matter.
And here, I wish to say to you now, is a greater gift –
not that old lie that you are filth and need a wash,
but the cathartic truth that you, just as you are,
were clean from the first start.