Letters from Lucifer
A poem inspired by The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis about the lies I almost believed, and the Grace that redeemed me. | by Taylor O’Lynn
Dearest young Taylor
Our bodies
Are meant for pleasure
Our skin
Meant to be touched
It wouldn't feel right if it were actually wrong
Just look how many want to —
Here is where you find your value
Take it easy
Lean on back
Let it ride
We’ll let it slide
Call it even
Dear Taylor,
Have you noticed the size of her ass?
The cinch in her waist?
Of course you have—in any case.
She’s got something you don’t.
And you’re lacking for it.
Time for affirmations
’Cause you can't ignore it:
You are beautiful
You are kind
You are talented with a potent mind
Seems so simple
Seems so sweet
Secretly, I take defeat..
You didn’t hear that
Thank the dark—
I don’t know what I’d do if she found her spark..
Dearest Taylor,
This feeling in your gut—
Unease and pain.
What if I told you
I could make it go away
Just the very same?
Bond you to your friends
It’s comradery
Don’t be lame.
Take a hit,
A puff,
Deep inhale—
Oh please,
Tell me how you feel.
You're feeling better, right?
Aren’t you glad you did it?
No one tell her—
Tomorrow morning will be different.
Oh, dearie?
What would you say if I told you
You could call in anything you wanted?
That you were one with god,
All on your own.
Just write it down and it’s yours.
The stars will align
The earth will turn
Mercury will hide
And you’ll get your return.
Whoever you want to be—
Do we have a deal?
Me me me
I I I
Self self self—
That’s right where he wants me.
See,
I didn’t know.
The darkness never comes out and says
Worship me—so
Just
Worship yourself
And get all you ever wanted.
But at what cost?
Perpetually being haunted.
My mind, a graveyard
With spirits running, screaming—
Tearing at the seams,
Tempting me to bleeding
Or leaning
Into another set of eyes,
Another pair of lips,
Or a supple pair of thighs.
Validation.
Sensation.
The hottest in the room.
Getting anyone I want,
Anyone I choose.
Cocky—but true.
My pride:
A ruse.
Insecurity at the bottom,
Emptiness ensues.
Take another hit.
Make it go away.
I am beautiful.
I am confident.
I don’t wanna see another day..
Hey Taylor!
Hit the gas.
Not the joint or the books.
Leave the journal.
Leave the friends.
Join the dirty crooks.
That’s all you’ll ever be, see?
Your body—
It’s filthy.
Your family—
They hate you.
No one
Will miss you.
The world keeps turning.
And maybe—get this—
If you defeat death,
You’re as powerful as it gets.
C’mon.
Pull the trigger.
Down the hatch.
Do you think you’re enough?
If you don’t do it,
Someone else will.
I’ve got you by the scruff.
I was kidding—
You’re a god.
Perfect as you are.
It’s just your mental illness.
Wild. Bizarre.
The story gets crazy.
I could spill it if you want.
But here’s how it ends:
I never would’ve thought—
Are you there?
Welcome home,
He cheers.
Curling in the dust,
Head in my hands—
He met me there
And I hear harps and harmonies.
The heavens above rejoice.
Hold me through this,
I cry
For a mercy
That He has already won.
Blowing away the dust and
Cracking apart the pages
Of the only love story
Ever written
As He introduces Himself—
One Word at a time.
Arms open wide—
The same as mine
When I ran back to sin
Time and time again.
But His grace is the smell of
Linens, lavender, and warm honey.
Every morning,
The mercies—
Like breakfast and coffee.
Freshly made
And most important.
From the chaos of the chasm I made,
I stand there.
Hair tattered
And knees scraped.
Tried to do it myself—
Tricked and torn,
Burnt and bruised.
Wrongly convinced.
Now
Rightfully convicted.
I clutch the hem of His garment,
Reluctant to ever let it go again.
He says:
You are forgiven.
Not thief.
Not liar.
Not cheat.
Not whore.
Not Taylor.
Daughter.