Hey, it’s me, God,
boundless black curls, blue scarf bent into a bow,
silver chains swinging low,
bouncing on my breasts as I take a few steps towards you.
She told you I was on the way,
a puff of pretty, pink cigarette smoke,
and I appeared, like a witchy mermaid,
who was never made for the Earth, but made the trip, especially for you.
We pray together, as I praise myself for being brave enough to unveil myself,
and yes, it’s a lie,
I didn’t come from the sky,
and I am not omnipotent,
I’m militant when I’m in love,
to the moon, back, and up to surround the stars again.
I know you heard from her,
about this aching need inside of you,
and the key that would come,
opening every door, even the ones you cannot see,
and I’ve got a funny feeling it was me,
because I’m a narcissist, and also,
I’m a little bit psychic.