Dear God of Taint,
You must exist.
If there is a god for everything
then there must be a God of Taint.
I pray to you, after all,
despite both our best wishes.
Despite how awful, disgusting,
and, let’s face it, delicious you truly are.
You have no choice but to exist.
We’re in the same boat.
I acknowledge, dear sweet lord of bodily accumulation,
that you are just as holy
as the God of Antelopes,
and the God of Music Boxes.
There was probably a time
when you, God of Taint,
wished to be the god of something wistful
such as the God of Snowflakes.
You studied their crystalline shapes,
the infinite possible ways a storm
can solidify into delicate.
You even crafted one or two of your own.
You were so proud that when you parents came home
after a long day of work
as the God of Bellybuttons and the God of Ear Canals,
you ran to show them what you carved from water.
They looked down at your outstretched palms
only to find two tiny droplets.
Sometimes you can only do the best that you can do
which isn’t good enough.
But you can be happy about it.
When I was young
I once walked down an alleyway
with a bottle of sake
on my way to buy cigarettes.
I hated the taste,
and too much made me retch.
Despite this, I tried to chug the remainder of the bottle.
My gag reflexes were triggered
and I puked the sake
back into the bottle.
Obedient to my addiction and
unwilling to let alcohol go to waste,
I rechugged the regurgitated sake.
Also, when I was young
I wanted to be a poet.
I don’t think that is how you’re supposed to do it.
Sometimes, you’re just meant to be a business major.
No one can refute what you’ve done with your charge.
You rebranded The Taint as The Perineum,
re-categorized it as an erogenous zone,
found a niche market among those who now worship it.
Let us praise you now, God of Taint.
Let us never forget that nothing is ever so terrible.
Even the condemned find a way to keep breathing.
Let us embrace that which makes us disgusting,
those parts of ourselves
that are unbearable.
They are not pretty, no,
but without them we are incomplete.
That which makes us whole makes us holy.
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