Spare me, Oh Lord, of my nature to worship anything that bruises me. A few years ago, I stood in front of a statue of Nuestra Señora de los Dolores to memorize her tears until a young priest pulled me away from the atrium by placing his hand firmly against my bare back. That night, I snuck into the chapel with nothing but want between my fingers. I then sat on a pew and touched myself thinking I too could be beautiful even in my suffering. Oh Lord, you know I have felt the pain of blades crossing my heart and thought I could endure more ache. When the same priest fed me the communion bread a few hours later, I tried to remove it from my mouth, but it had already melted against my tongue. I bit hard until blood mixed with the host and then swallowed. Dear Lord, I do not know how to renounce my want. After he saw blood pouring from the corner of my lips, he took me to his rectory, and when he held my chin and asked me to open my mouth, I licked two of his fingers. Lord, I know the taste of lust and have not once denied myself of my craving. When he fucked me, he whispered your hunger will kill you before finishing inside me. Lord, I want to know how to tell apart the jaw that only wants to taste me from the one that will tear me open and spit me out. Oh Lord, if I mistake a man for a God, let me at least savor it.