Confessions of a Demigod

You said in your last meeting you figured out
the map of the planets. The lonely orbits.
Cosmic dust. In my last meeting, a future
meeting was discussed. How to kick out
the un-paid children—holes thumbed
into sweatshirts—from debates about the shapes
of the soul. Like always, I brought my vag
to the table. And when I spoke,
it was like it breathed. Echoed me.
Shadowed me. And every time,
someone uses this to soften my presence
into something ordinary, like pools of gold
syrup sponging the middle
squares of a thawed waffle.
Now, all I hear is how I ruined the world.
So the world is
hard, like light. The seas rose up,
and now they’ve gone. But you can still
smell water here & there, like I was.