I Cut Quietly

~ inspired by the story of Delilah

he came to me

like thunder wearing skin

a storm walking upright

hair like unspoken prophecy

his eyes never learned

to see beyond the curve of my mouth

never wondered if there was a soul

behind the silence

they say i was the blade

as if being sharp was something

i asked for

as if steel doesn’t cry out

each time it breaks what it touches

no one speaks of the wound

left in the weapon

how even the sword

bleeds from the blow

they forget

steel remembers everything it cuts

and me?

i remembered God

even when my knees bent

for a man instead of prayer

even when the temple inside me

was torn curtain and crumbling stone

they never tell you

how hard it is to be holy

when your body is the battlefield

and your softness is  the strategy

he laid his strength

on my lap like it belonged there

as if my thighs were sanctuary

not the last quiet place

before the slaughter

each night

he wanted only nearness

but even nearness

can hollow you out

if it is only ever taken

and each morning

i counted the silver

they swore would make my obedience

look like faith

i didn’t want to ask again.

but they were watching

men with calloused hands

and clean consciences

and i was tired

of being the cloth

men passed between wars

the holy woman

made to do unholy things

just to be believed

so i asked

with a voice like unraveling linen

again 

again

and again

until one night

he opened

and the secret

fell into my hands

like manna laced with blood

i held the shears

like betrayal disguised as worship

like the knife Abraham held

before God said stop

only this time

no voice came

he didn’t flinch

not even when the first lock

fell like a feather

turned to stone in my hand

his trust

was sharper than the steel

and i didn’t cry

but not because i didn’t want to

because sometimes

faith tastes like iron

because sometimes

the hardest thing

is choosing obedience

when it means destroying

the one thing

that ever made you feel seen

they will say

i was heartless

that i was only the blade

but no one asked

what it feels like

to love God

and still be forced

to break something 

He made beautiful

to be both sacrifice

and priest

both cage

and trapdoor

no one asked

if i ever wanted his gaze

to find more than my shape

if maybe

just once

i wanted to be seen

not as a weapon

used by heaven

but

as a woman

aching to be held

without being used