i ate my own placenta, and im a bloody woman.
The prodigal son/is supposed to be forgiven/but I am not holy. am I really supposed to stand here/and give you my best food, and do you/all kinds of favors? I am a bloody woman/I ate my own/placenta/I am considering/my words carefully, my cannibalism/carefully. i am picking/what i decide is natural/and sifting it out. if what is natural is always holy, then i have some/natural remedies for you.

No, I am a bloody woman/not a holy forgiver. I do not/will not/invite you back in. I can sit here and be indifferent to you and you can/continue to exist/without my forgiveness and love. But it’s a pandemic, you say. So what, I say? When I was in pain before, you were indifferent. It only matters to you now/because it is your pain. You’re only sorry because now it is your pain/I am just blood, I have no/sex for you here. I am carrie on prom night/there is no home for you here.