My Body Is A Temple

Throat chewed out
displayed in light of day 
sugar crystals ground
into split lip 
from the beating
I’ve been blessed with.

Always the favorite,
I’m punished as reward  
because sweetness drips
from my wounded heart
acting as insulation 
to comfort a cold body.

My bruised arms cover
the little boy’s pain
hidden in plain sight.
It lurks behind
his grown man eyes. 
It bores black holes
straight through the wreck of me.

Damn bloody work
being sacrificial lamb.
Over playing victim, 
I tire of being served
as a God’s offering.
Oh, my Goddess,
won’t the slayer be surprised
upon returning
to the scene of the crime  
finding me transformed
into the altar?