You might not be struck blind by holy light,
                                                            jinxed by an angel,
                                                                        implanted with surround sound of the heavens
                                                and told what you need to do.
          You might not find your

                        curled up fetal position,
                                    jumbling twisted pretzel,
                                                stressed out spaghetti monster—
                                                            all pulled apart and straightened out to be like others
                                                                                                                                    as you wish.
You might not be tormented with pleasurable fiery match
                                                (price tag says match made in heaven)
                        or an arrow piercing your heart,
            soon giving all that hangs over a place to rest—
At least not the same way.

But you will find yourself admiring lightning unafraid
                                                and loved so deeply that you cannot die.
                        Your hell and torment in love already spent, passionately,

                                                you’ll discover a bright

                                                                        new season


                                                                                                as earth trembles.
                                                            You will feel a peace whirlwind you to dance,
perhaps yet another thing others won’t understand,
                                    but your heart will reach your fingertips

                                                                        and stretch out through all your ligaments,                                                                                                                                        your soul the fire.

From here you can see the path to paradise is littered with celebration
                                                                        colored with pride as it was originally created
And it won’t matter what they jeer
                        how a hero should look, how a prince should lead
                                                            as you link hands, always beloved,
                                                                                                and spin right into His arms,
                                                                                                                                    finally free.

By Ellen Huang


The rumors are true. Ellen Huang does own a cape. And it feels so nice, especially when she twirls it like this. In other news, she’s an ace writer of speculative fiction with a huge emphasis on progressive faith and platonic love. She reads for Whale Road Review and has pieces published in Ghost City, They Call Us, miniskirt magazine, horse egg, Ice Lolly Review, Exhume Lit, and more. She lives in San Diego with her pan roommate, but her future home would probably be the eclectic mansion from Knives Out. Follow if you wanna:

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