BLOOD AND OIL

You let those words fall from your mouth,

not once, not thrice,

but over and over, like a song you’ve rehearsed,

no weight left in them, no guilt, no hesitation.

At first, they stung,

but now they slide like water—cold, indifferent.

This was your prayer for me,

a name you placed on my head like a shadow,

a guardian, you were, so you had authority to speak,

but this was no blessing.

Blood dripped over my face,

where oil should have been,

but it wasn’t oil, it was never oil.

_____

I trusted it could change,

thought maybe—just maybe—

this time, the outcome would be different.

So I knelt again, foolishly,

against my will,

not myself, not anymore,

expectations piled up and dashed again,

each time,

until I bled from the inside,

until the blood from my insides spilled over,

and you never even touched me.

You didn’t need to.

Your words alone, your vile chants,

did the damage.

____

But then, I met Jesus.

And His blood—His blood flowed inside me,

not like yours, not like the poison you poured over me.

You kept chanting,

thinking your curse held tight,

thinking I was still bound by your words,

but it wasn’t your curse;

it was His love.

And all the while, as you repeated your incantations,

oblivious to my rising,

He worked inside me,

turning your curse to dust.

_____

You thought you had power,

thought you controlled this,

thought your words were chains,

but the sacrifice was already complete.

It had always been complete,

while you stood there,

thinking you were in control.

____

So now I rise,

not because I need to prove you wrong,

but because I can.

You’re not convinced,

just confused—

How could I carry the One you’ve always feared?

How could the blood on my forehead,

the blood you marked me with,

shine like oil?

_____

Like a shark’s gleam, red and dangerous,

but even blood can be beautiful

when He touches it.

You placed it there,

but He turned it into something else,

still blood,

but redeemed,

still red, but it glows now.