Against Immorality

Proverbs 5:19
"A loving doe, a graceful deer -
may her breasts satisfy you always,
may you be ever captivated by her love."
A loving doe. The most graceful deer.
My rose tinted gaze focused only on her.
With enough faith and enough love, I'm sure she could be my only exception to the case.
The exception to strife, heartache, insecurity, and an ensnared life.
Yet, I am being called in every which way.
I don't know if it's me or if it's Him or if it's the sins or the songs to which I listen.
Oh, how I yearn to be forever enamored.
How I wish for my calls to be answered.
But part of me feels that I'm undeserving.
Part of me feels like I'm unworthy.
Part of me feels.
Part of me doesn't.
Part of me begins to heal.
Part of me is asleep at the wheel.
I'm watching a collision before it happens and trying to do everything I can before it unfolds.
I'm trying to write a new story, one that hasn't been heard before - I'm trying to write something that won't make me regret when it’s being told.
Yet.
Part of me doesn't.
Part of me feels.
The part that feels too much is the scariest one.
The part that feels hollow is the most worrying one.
When I’m all alone and it’s late,
or when it’s early and the day breaks -
Sometimes that part takes over.
It’s ironic.
The most intimate thing humans can experience
is the reason why I feel I do not deserve any intimacy.
Something so pure, now corrupted.
The purest of sensations, now violently disrupted.
Tainted. Ugly. Bitter. Shameful. Disgusting.
Poetic justice so bittersweet that it brings both elation and shame.
Star crossed lustees.
Montagues or Capulets?
Shall I choose the truth?
or more secrets?