holy water

by Poroye

He spat in my face  

and called it holy water. 

He tarried long and hard over my soul  

until a spirit of fear  

flowed through me  

like an everlasting river. 

I held my breath with a  

silent shrill. Arms thrashing around  

for God knows how long 

desperate for an exhale 

and he called it a baptism.  

Oh how I wanted to tell him  

I was drowning.  

That I needed saving  

but not nearly in this kind of manner.