Rosary

Counting down the beads of
a worn, wooden rosary; the
tangible reminder of the
faith of Our Father,
who art in Heaven.

Reciting each Hail Mary was
a verbal flagellation, the torn
flesh of my grief dropped in
dripping, bloody strips;
soaked by my own tears.

I am dragged down by
the reality of your
absence, your
loss, your
Death.

by Erik Shinker

Virgin is Such a Dirty Word

I once had a friend who was a firm believer in astrology, so she was proud to inform me that I am a Virgo since I was born on the 22nd of September (which is also the fictional birthday of Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, so shout out to them); the symbol for Virgo is the maiden, or virgin, and I don’t think that she realized how accurate that is. Yes, I am a 26-year-old virgin (now the Hobbit reference makes sense, right?); I’m sure questions are running through your mind about how this could come about, and I hope to give some insight into the choices I have made throughout my life, some of which may surprise you. Don’t worry, the featured image is simply an allusion to the most famous of virgins; there won’t be any preaching in this post.
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