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RahabGaudy, plastic jewelry is apparently inappropriate
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For black tie Sunday mornings--
Almost as irreverant towards Elohim as cigarettes
Or showing too much scandelous skin.
The raucous doldrum of clanking baubles
Draws disapproving sidelong glances
From the conservative, monotonous saints
Writing scarlet letters in Communion wine.
A black sheep am I in their little world
Without the shades of gray.
Black, but forever embroidered scarlet
An "A" on the breast of this common harlot.
Like Nemesis, spitefully crying "To the fairest!"
The "righteous" cast their gilded stones.
The girl beside me murmurs under her breath:
"Slut," she sneers, with holy disdain
Praying dutifully for the eternal salvation
Of this poor, lost little lamb.
They fancy themselves infallible Jerusalem
And my people Sodom and Gomorrah.
But they see not the flax, nor the scarlet cord
Only piercings and leather and lust.
They judge, with a vengeance, the ink on my skin.
But my ink tells my story, not of my sin.