Joan of Arc
Nineteen years of life will not make up
For the burn marks on my body.
The ones you bestowed on me. Call on the Bishop,
The one who thinks he’s godly.
Choking on your smoke as it fills my lungs.
The cardinal wanted ash and I was still skin and bone.
Witchcraft, you said, and only heard me speak in tongues.
Again, you sent me to die, Goodbye Joan.
Threatened by my unbeating heart,
You burned me for a second time.
I save France, but you ignite my body apart.
Guilty as charged, heresy is my crime.
I cut my hair, I cut my clothes
Only because you wouldn’t listen.
I heard God and I took an oath.
Fighting is hard to do in a dress,
And for this, I’m burned again.
Three times the charm.
Now I am unarmed
And yet you put me through pain.
Anti-me
I woke up
In my bed,
But I was trapped in my
Head
From the terrors
Of last night
That swallowed me
Whole;
No amount of
Swimming can pull
Me out of
This riptide
And even if
I had the neck
Of a giraffe,
I could not
Reach my
Problems
On the top
Of the highest
shelf.
I pack my
Worries in
Pickle jars,
Because I’m too
Scared to sip
On wine,
So the bottles
Stay full in
The fridge;
I’m sure the
Greek gods
Would be
Disappointed
By this, but
Who can even
Tell me what
God there is?
I, for one,
Have lots of
Self doubt, and
I don't think
I'm good at
Reading out loud—
But if they
Could read minds,
They’d understand
Mine
And maybe—
Just maybe—
They’d see what
I want to say
Inside my weird
Brain.
