Messy Girls Go to Heaven Too

by María Del Mal 

God saw me in the worst light, with my pierced tits out and mascara running down my face as I cried on my bathroom floor about a guy who couldn’t give less of a shit about me. And he showed it. Maybe that’s why I wanted him, to hurt myself without a razor. I did all that, I believed that because the world made me feel bad for something God would hug me for. He’d hold me while I cry, naked because that’s how we were meant to be, and let me whine. These moments where I am baring myself on the cold floor tiles, is when I feel most spiritual because it’s when I’m my most honest. 

I don’t always turn the other cheek. Sometimes I curse bitches out, write hateful letters I burn, or send bitchy texts. Sometimes I wish the worst upon those people, but I still have a place in heaven because even while wishing the worst I still tried to heal. I tried to get to a place where I’d wish nothing on anyone, but greatness on me. I want a better life more than I want to see someone else fail or fall. 

Messy girls write poems about broken hearts, read horoscopes, and do tarot. They fight for their spiritually, for their closeness to peace of mind, body, and soul. We hate when people get in between us and our routines. It’s the same as going to Church or reading your bible, it’s our time to be close with God. 

God made me this way, loud, horny, dramatic, bitchy, petty, everything all at once and he loved me anyway. I say he not because I believe God is a man, but because I believe God is omniscient, omnipresent, omieverything, and women have too many responsibilities to also be God. We can’t be mothers, caretakers, nurturers, work a 9-to-5, cook, clean, and also play God. So, he must be a man, only a man has that much free time.  

I write poems about people I barely know, declarations of love and passion. All while having sex with people I could hit with my car. Some nights I pray to God for peace, for sanity, a sign, something. Other nights, I just unblock my ex and send him a paragraph about how pathetic he is, then block him again because I instantly regret it. The routine is important for my healing. 

I go to therapy once a week, sometimes more, and I also daydream about getting revenge. The duality of my healing is beautiful, and important. God sees that, and he knows I’m trying to get to the healed chapter of my life novel. 

The same mouth that I kiss those shitty men on drunken nights, I use to pray for the safety of my sobrinos. Because I can hate myself, and love other people. I still have my priorities in check, and that’s with the people I care about.