i’ve always wanted to fistfight god a little

kind of like how geralt slays the giant in the clouds

at the end of blood and wine with lightning

strikes and silver blade flourishes, but also

kind of like how whatever force the universe

employs to do its bidding pushes me around

with careless fingers, clearly bored and possibly

vengeful itself. my belief in god is dubious

at best, but if he is here among us, and maybe

even actually listening: i withstood hell—lovers,

mostly—for the promise of heaven and was doled

out a second dose of hellfire. then a third, a fourth.

by the time i saw golden clouds and pearl

tones, i’d walked on coals for miles, fanning

the flames with an undiagnosed personality

disorder. and it was not by his grace

that i finally arrived in the land of pleasant

living—that was all my own spite’s doing.

now that i perch weightless at the top,

i cordially invite god to come at me.

i am through with capsizing, shipwreck

for the sake of itself. if someone wants

to add to the scar tissue, they can first get

on my level, and then face my wrath.

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nat raum is a disabled artist, writer, and genderless disaster based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They’re the editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press. Their writing is published or forthcoming with Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, beestung, Gone Lawn, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.