Ivy, Like the PLant

To be

Good,

Is to be anything but

Myself.

.

Mom says,

Girls sit with legs crossed

Mouths shut

Lashes fluttered.

Mom says,

You are better seen

Not heard

So I bury my personality

Under the guise of

Purity.

.

The girl grows up.

She learns to be timid

In Church

And bold everywhere else

She learns to wear a cross on

Sunday

To cleanse herself of

The adolescence she lived

During the week –

Dirty.

.

There always was something beautiful about duality.

.

She continues to grow –

Transforms.

Questions flutter through her mind

Uncertainty creeps in

And the prospect of

A living paradox dissolves.

.

I have to make a decision.

I choose Him.

It’s difficult,

Then I choose them.

It’s sad,

So I choose Him.

It’s lonely,

So I choose them.

This oscillation makes me

Ill

So I worship

Myself.

If God is a woman

And she’s beautiful

And stong

Then why can’t she be me?

I worship at my own alter

Praise this mind

This body

That was never my own.

My flesh guides me through life

and I’m left as

Hopeless as when I began.

.

In the end,

I choose Him:

Nothing else makes sense.

.

And I’m left singing a

Song full of praise

From a mouth full of doubt.

---

A very significant aspect of faith and the building of it is doubt. I’ve fallen short of God’s grace way too many times to count but he’s promised grace and mercy so I’m relying on that to keep me going. God never promised it would be easy but it is certainly worthwhile.