Hi I’m Lilith. I am new to Atheist Nexus and this group.
I am a member of a new group called the A.I.M (The anti-injustice movement) on Nexus. We held our first ever protest poetry event recently and I thought I would post one of the poems I preformed. I was hoping for some comments and feedback. I was also wondering if anyone had any tips about lay out and presentation. I would like to say thank you to Dallas Gaytheist for the invite to this group.
Granny’s First Gift
My Granny’s first gift
was to knit me a shawl.
Like a shroud
she bound me up
real tight.
Like a present
dressed in pure white.
To be given over to him
so he could forgive me
my first mortal sin.
Coming to earth
clothed in nothing
but my own silken skin.
Saturated in the smell
of my ancestors sin.
She stood upon his alter
proudly on display
the day, that she gave me away.
To the almighty
and his earthly emissary.
To be washed clean
by the sign of his cross.
In the name of the father
his son
and the holy
fucking ghost.
The cold, drips
from his
fingertips
welcomed me
into this
exclusive family.
Where indoctrination
is a, lifetimes occupation.
Calling upon
his surrogate parents
to fulfil
their sacred role.
As I was sold
A sacrificial slave
for the price
of their salvation
from damnation
while the congregation
watch
Before rising
from their pews
to sing their praises to
my holy father
who is sucking it all in
as if he’d, just squeezed me
from his own
stretched and bloodied skin.
Taking a bow
for mankind
for Adam
and his mystically missing rib.
As my mothers role in creation
is taken.
By this robed
baby snatcher.
who likes them young
Spongey and innocent
Just waiting to be
filled up
by the word.
So as soon as I can walk
barely able to talk
just a curious little tot
scrambling for
coloured crayons
out the box
to scribble
between the lines
of a broken Jesus
hanging upon his cross
for me
and my future sin
which is curled up
inside my hymen
like the serpent
waiting to suck my victims in
tempting them to take
that first fleshy taste
Juices dribbling down our skin
until we are guilty and confessing.
While He
He’s getting off
on the thought
Of me
a miniature bride
kneeling upon his alter
and opening up my mouth
real wide
to take the body of Christ
washing it down
with his spilt blood
trickling
down my chin
while the congregation
watch
wet eyed at the sight
of these pretty little
girls dressed up in white.
All secretly wishing for that
special day
when daddy
will give them away.
Sold off
As veiled
virgin wives
to their husbands
and his rights
to a fuck
when he likes.
My life unfolds
before my eyes
ritualised.
Until I’m standing
upon his alter
swearing myself away
willingly
promising to be so
faithful and true
to this man
whose standing in for you.
As the congregation
proudly
watch
their creation
taking up her mystical vocation.
All winking and waiting
for that, final deed
the sowing of his seed.
and the pattering
of tiny, Christian feet.
My Grannies final gift
was to knit me
a christening shawl.
For me to bind
my unborn child.
It lays yellowing
wrapped in tissue paper
waiting for the day
when I’m finally
strong enough
to throw it away.